Children of Hope (9 page)

Kev asked, “How do we get back down afterward?”

“We’ll get you on a shuttle. Or you can stay aboard the night, and we’ll come groundside with you.”

“Zark.” Kevin keyed his caller. “Wish me luck.” It rang several times, with no answer. His face relaxed as he keyed voice mail. He spoke rapidly, as if afraid he’d be interrupted. “Dad, we’re going aloft with Tad and Mik. We’ll be back late tonight. Sorry we missed you.” He rang off, switched his caller to decline incoming calls. “We’re out of range.”

I said nothing.

“He might not like it.” Kev’s tone was defensive. “When we’re done I’ll pay the price, whatever it is. I don’t need my daddy to hold my hand.”

I smiled, welcoming back the Kevin I’d known last summer. For a time I’d wondered if he’d grown up entirely.

Many more joeys were coming groundside than going back aloft; seats on the shuttle weren’t a problem. Mik and his lieutenant went to the Naval desk, showed their IDs, signed us in as their guests. To my astonishment, that’s all it took. No DNA check, no retinoscopy.

We strode to the waiting shuttle, agleam in the spaceport lights. Mik asked, “You been in one of these before?”

“Of course.” Belatedly, I realized my tone was contemptuous. But Dad
had
taken me aloft at times. In my mind’s eye I saw him striding through the fastship’s hatch, never to return. I swallowed.

Kevin looked nervous. “I haven’t.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? But your father—”

“Next time. Always next time.” His voice was sullen.

We passed through weigh-in and found seats. It was one of the larger shuttles, and mostly empty.

As we settled in, Lieutenant Anselm threw a genial arm around Kevin’s shoulder. “At liftoff, gravity will press you hard. Just lie there, try to relax. After, you’ll be weightless ’til we reach the Station. Take shallow breaths, stay buckled in. If you feel sick—”

“He will.” Mik spoke with confidence. “Just lean to your right and barf on the lieutenant. I would, but he’d demerit me.”

Kevin smiled weakly. “I’ll manage.”

I hoped so. Else he’d embarrass us, and Hope Nation, before these outworlders. As for me, I’d been aloft with Dad and Anth, and hadn’t had an accident since I was six.

Liftoff was just as Tad Anselm had promised. I lay back in my cushioned seat, gripping the armrests while the world pulsed. At length it was over. Eagerly, I unbuckled.

“Hey, joey, stay put.”

“I’m fine. Really.” I grabbed a handhold, pulled myself up, twisted, let myself spin slowly. “See?”

“Don’t.” Kev’s face was green. He swallowed.

I had to divert him quickly. “Look!” I pointed to the porthole, and Hope Nation’s green globe. “Isn’t it beautiful?” I settled myself next to him. “That’s Western Continent.”

“I don’t care.”

“The Venturas run from the center to the coast.” Idly, my fingers rubbed his forearm. “It’s cool, Kev. Look.”

Dutifully, he did.

“The old military base was near that spine. We probably can’t see much. Ever go there? It’s all a park now.”

He squinted, leaned to the porthole. Together, we peered out. After a moment, softly, “Thanks.”

Mikhael’s eyes were far away. Unconsciously, he smoothed his hair, straightened his tie.

Slowly, our shuttle approached the Station.

We didn’t have a proper station anymore, not since Seafort destroyed it. In all the years since, it had never been rebuilt. Instead, Admiralty had sent us an obsolete warship, decommissioned it, and let it serve as the core of a new Orbiting Station. Over the years we’d added new airlock bays as well as cavernous storage facilities for grains and ores. But pieces of the original vessel still poked through, and the effect was startling.

Kevin, his vertigo forgotten, took it all in. “Look at the size of her.”

“The Station? It’s grown over the years, but …”

“Not that, you snark. The
ship.
”

I peered out the window, at
Olympiad,
whose bulk dwarfed the nearby Station. “Holy Lord God.” I didn’t know I’d spoken. She was … vast. Majestic. Something stirred within. I looked to Anselm, with something akin to awe. “That’s where you serve? In
her
?

Tad nodded with evident pride.

I swallowed. “No wonder you’re not lonely.”

She loomed larger as we neared.

“We won’t moor at the Station?”

“No need.
Olympiad
has ample bays. We can board directly.” He settled back in his seat.

Mik unbuckled. “I’ll call Pa, then show you joeys around.”

I barely heard. My eyes were fastened on the great behemoth, floating against the backdrop of a billion pinpoints of light.

With precise care, our pilot mated us to the huge ship’s waiting bay. A click, as capture latches slid into place.

As the starship’s gravitrons took hold, Anselm stood, grabbed his carrybag.

The airlock hatch slid open.

I squinted in the silent white lighting, while a bored sailor on airlock watch idly looked me over. The corridor seemed deserted. I said, “Where are all the people?”

Mik took up the caller. “Groundside. We’re on Level 2; most of these cabins are empty.” He waved vaguely. “The new passengers won’t board for three weeks. Just a moment.” He punched in a code. “Bridge, Midshipman Mikhael Tamarov reporting. Permission to board with two guests, ma’am?” A pause. “A couple of joeykids we met groundside. Kevin Dakko and Randy—uh, because they showed us around. Yes, of course, at all times. I’ll sign them in and be responsible. Thanks, Ms Frand.” A quick grin to Lieutenant Anselm, which might have been relief. “Is the Captain in his cabin, do you know?” Another pause. “Yes, in just a bit.” He rang off. “We’re to keep them in sight at all times, so they don’t fire the fusion drive by mistake.”

Kevin’s look was apprehensive.

“Or de-air the ship.” Tad Anselm’s tone was dry. “No doubt you want to see your father?”

“For dinner, yes, sir.”

“Very well, get changed; I’ll take these two on walkabout.”

“Thanks, sir. Where shall we meet?”

“Why not the Dining Hall?”

Mikhael glanced at his watch. “An hour or so. Suits me.” A quick salute, and he was off.

Kevin stirred. “Why did he suddenly start calling you ‘sir’?”

“Because we passed through the airlock.” Anselm’s hand gently guided his shoulder. “This way, joeyboy. I’ll show you passenger quarters, and some of the lounges. Perhaps after dinner the Captain will allow a look at the bridge.”

The cabins were sumptuous but none too large; I’d hate to be cooped in one for a full year. On the other hand, the public areas were ample, so much so that I lost my bearings in a maze of elegant stairwells and carpeted corridors.

Olympiad
had not just one or two levels, like most ships, but six. She even had lifts to supplement the stairwells.

“What’s it like living on her?” I was impressed despite myself.

“Depends who you are.” Anselm led us past a crew lounge, toward the comm room. “Passengers dine and sleep quite comfortably. Crew quarters? Let’s say they’re adequate. Middies—”

Kevin asked, “Could I see a crew berth?”

“I’m afraid not. They’re off-limits to … well, perhaps while the crew’s on leave it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’d really like that. My father … Mr Dakko had lived in one, when he was Kevin’s age.

“I’ll see what I can do. Now, middies are crammed together, as always, but lieutenants’ cabins are decent enough. Care to see mine?”

“Sure.” I tried to sound eager, for Anselm’s sake.

“After dinner; it’s just about time.”

“Where should we wait while—”

“Oh, you’re invited, have no fear. There’s plenty of seats now most of our passengers are ashore.” He led us upward, toward the more ornate Level 2 dining hall.

I trudged behind, my jaw clenched. For all her splendor, this extravagant ship was an almost identical twin to UNS
Galactic.
In surroundings such as these, Dad had died a horrible death, choking in vacuum, clawing at nothing while his eyeballs—

“Randy, you all right?” Kevin touched my arm.

I pulled free. I wouldn’t speak of my nightmare. In subdued silence, we trudged to the Dining Hall.

The spacious compartment was as sumptuous as the best restaurants in Centraltown; at one time or another, under Anthony’s watchful eye, I’d dined in them all. Velvet draperies, gleaming rails, starched tablecloths, and crystal glassware bespoke affluence and old-world elegance.

Lieutenant Anselm led us to a round table. “During the cruise, each officer sits with a table of passengers, and we rotate monthly. To tell the truth, at times it’s a bore.”

I pulled out my heavy steel-framed upholstered chair. Kev, at my left, glanced about nervously. “We’re not dressed for this.”

Anselm clapped the shoulder of his jumpsuit. “You’re fine, joey. Officers dress for dinner; passengers are more casual, especially in port.” His tone was kind.

Only a handful of joeys wandered in, while the stewards prepared for service. I tried to imagine the hall filled to capacity, as well as the auxiliary dining hall below, which we’d been shown on our tour.

I spotted Mikhael. He was fully decked out: fresh shirt, dark blue pants, crisp blue jacket with his insignia patches. His tie was neatly in place, his hair fresh combed. He was talking animatedly with an older officer, who led a little girl by the hand.

Slim of build, stern of face, the officer’s salt and pepper hair was cut short, his demeanor imposing. He seemed vaguely familiar. Something Mikhael said amused him; a smile lightened his features. His fingers brushed Mikhael’s arm. My fist tightened. Dad had been fond of the same gesture.

At their table, three civilians were waiting. A steward held out a chair, but first the officer seated the child. Mikhael waited until both were in their places, took the seat to his other side, spread his napkin carefully on his lap.

At our own table, we sat.

“Fresh meat and vegetables tonight,” said Anselm, opening his own napkin. “Of course, Hydroponics provides us with ample greens, but—”

“Pardon, sir.” Midshipman Tamarov, with a crisp salute to Anselm. “The Captain requests the pleasure of your company, and that of our guests.” To me, a wink and a mischievous grin.

“But, of course.” Tad shot to his feet, gestured us to rise. “It’s considered an honor, boys. Though not exactly unexpected, in this case.”

While I was puzzling that out, we made our way across the nearly empty hall. The older officer stood; I realized his insignia was that of Captain. “Welcome to
Olympiad.”
He held out a hand.

Mikhael said, “Sir, may I present my friends Kevin Dakko and Randy Carlson. Randy, Kevin, Captain Nicholas Seafort.”

The color drained from my face. A hand steadied me.

My mouth worked. “You’re … Seafort?
The
Captain Seafort? The former SecGen?”

A thin smile. “I believe that’s so.”

Awed, Kevin took his hand. Then, because all were watching, so did I.

He gestured to a place just past Mikhael. “Please join us. And please meet Jane Ellen Seafort, my daughter.” He tousled the young one’s hair.

I pulled out my heavily padded chair, slumped at the table, my head spinning. A steward set a silver tureen on a stand, ladled steaming mushroom soup into our bowls. The aroma of fresh hot bread wafted across the starched table.

“So,” said the Captain. “I hear you gave our boys the grand tour of Centraltown.”

I mumbled something; Kevin took up the conversation. “It was a zark, sir. We went to Haulers’ Rest.”

I’d dreamed of this day.

“And you still want dinner? Amazing.”

“You know it? Oh, of course.” Kevin blushed. Seafort had worked and lived on Hope Nation.

For years I’d yearned for my chance, safe in the knowledge that it couldn’t occur.

The Captain smiled. “Do they still feature the pork steaks?”

“With garlic mashed potatoes.” Kev’s face was flushed. “You ought to come down, try some.”

Mikhael said, “They’re quite good, sir.”

Sweat trickled down my ribs. Casually, my hand drifted across the table; inadvertently, it swept my cloth napkin to the deck.

“I’m afraid I’m not quite ready. I’m afraid of liftoff.”

“Your spine, sir?”

Today I would justify my existence. Today, Anthony, Mom, Cousin Randolph, would be made proud.

I leaned over, couldn’t reach my fallen napkin.

With a muttered apology, I stood, thrust my chair aside, bent to retrieve it. I dropped the starched linen next to my plate.

“Yes. When we started out I could tolerate one-third gee, so that’s where we set the bow gravitron. We raised it each day just an iota. By the time we got back from Constantine, I could handle one gee, but—”

I stepped back. In one smooth motion, as if I’d rehearsed it, I raised high the heavy steel chair. With all the force I could muster I brought it down on Captain Seafort’s skull.

He toppled to the deck.

Kevin sat frozen, with a look of horror. The little girl screamed.

Again I raised the chair. Hands pawed at me. I eluded them, brandishing the chair, but my twist threw off my aim. Anselm had me about the waist. Mikhael hurled himself at me, headfirst. He butted me in the stomach. We went down in a clump. Someone kicked me hard.

“Dr Romez to the Dining Hall, flank!”
A harsh voice, on a caller. Someone hauled the middy off me. “Get him out!” A lieutenant, older and gray. “Get them both to the brig, this instant!” Anselm hauled Kevin from his seat. Kev protested. The sailor let loose a mighty blow that rocked his head.

“Move them out, I said!”

“Aye aye, Mr Tolliver!” They twisted my arm high behind my back. They ran me out of the Dining Hall squealing with pain, but not before I glimpsed Seafort. He lay motionless on the plush green carpet, one hand outstretched as if in supplication. A slow stream of rust-colored blood seeped into the weave.

Midshipman Tamarov knelt at his side, clutching the old man’s hand.

Despite my pain and battering, I exulted.

Derek Carr, I’ve avenged you at last. Rest easy. Fucking Captain Seafort is dead.