Children of Hope

by David Feintuch

  But if corridor hatches were closed, a breach in the hull wouldn’t decompress more than one section.

  A chill ran down my spine.

  “WE HAVE A SHOT!” Ms Frand’s voice rattled the speaker.

  “Take it!”

  A figure grew from the swirling hole in the fish’s skin, separated. It launched itself at Olympiad.

  The fish spewed a hole, then another. A third.

  Mr Seafort pounded the console. “Get the outrider! All lasers open fire, flank!”

  The swirling shape that had detached from the fish sailed closer. Abruptly, it flew apart. Feverishly our laser beams sought and destroyed its remnants.

  Behind it, the skin of the fish was gray and still.

  Tolliver’s tone was dry. “I thought those days were behind us.”

  “Lord preserve us.” Mr Seafort let out a long breath. He turned, saw me. “Get into your suit!”

  My voice quavered. “I don’t know how, sir.”

  Tolliver was out of his seat. “I’ll dress him.” He threw open a locker, found a small suit—they came in three sizes—and lifted my leg, guided it to the torso opening. I struggled to help.

  “You too, Edgar.”

  “The moment you do, sir.”

  “I choose not.”

  “Then so do I.”

  “I’ll pass out if I try to contort myself. Get yourself suited.”

  Tolliver’s tone was reluctant. “Aye aye, sir.” With effort, he got me buckled in. “Here’s your helmet, boy.” He plopped it on my head, checked the seals. “See that green light? When it turns yellow, switch tanks.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll have to show you.” Swiftly, he donned his own suit. “Captain, we can’t stay suited.” Tolliver’s voice was muffled. “It’ll be hot, and everyone’s tanks will need changing. How long must we …”

  “ ’Til it’s likely they’re not coming back.”

  “And when do we decide that?” Tolliver trudged back to his seat. “Did you notice something odd, sir?”

  “What?”

  “It didn’t form a throwing arm. That’s their primary weapon for ship-to-ship combat. Why not use it?”

  “No one wrote us an instruction manual on fish, Edgar.”

  “And what’s it doing here? We know they’re summoned by Fusion, but no one’s Fused.”

  “We did, to get here.”

  “Weeks ago, only once. If they’re back, why wouldn’t they go to home system?”

  “Perhaps they have.” The Captain’s tone was bleak. He leaned back, closed his eyes.

  “Can I get you anything, sir?” I raised my voice, to be heard through the helmet. A stupid question; there was nothing I could do to help, save stay out of the way, avoid bothering him.

  “Yes, my boy. Coffee, from the officers’ mess. I’ll open hatches for you.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” I tried to keep the astonishment from my tone. I clambered through the hatchway, along the silent, empty corridor. Thanks to Alejandro, I knew the way. Where was his battle station? I’d have to ask. Perhaps it was mine.

  At the mess the pot was half full, and warm. Awkwardly, through my thick gloves, I poured a cup. He took it black, I’d seen. I trudged back to the bridge. Too bad I had a mere vacuum suit, not a thrustersuit. In the holos, heroic spacemen zoomed back and forth from ship to launch, propelled by their thruster tanks.

  I handed Mr Seafort the coffee. Inside my suit I was sweating freely. I longed for cool ship’s air. On the simulscreen, the dead fish floated, evil and menacing.

  “Thank you.” He sipped. “Lord God, son, I never meant to drag you into this.”

  “I don’t mind, sir.” To my utter amazement, it was true. I ought to be afraid; we were in deadly peril. On the other hand, I had a place on Olympiad, an apprenticeship I rather liked.

  Strange, the things one thinks of, at a time like this.

  I had a job. A guardian. A home.

  An hour later, Mr Seafort released us from our suits. I found mine easier to get out of than into. Mr Tolliver made me hang it properly, in the bridge’s storage locker. No sooner did I breathe a sigh of relief than the alarms screamed anew. The bridge hatch slammed closed. Another fish.

  Within seconds the laser room lined up a shot. It looked like they got him; he—it—disappeared from the screen.

  Tolliver and the Captain exchanged glances. “Now what?”

  “We wait.”

  No suits, thank heaven, but a full four hours on high alert. I found it astonishing how quickly danger transformed into boredom. I didn’t dare ease myself into a watch chair, even if the middies of the watch weren’t present. Instead, behind the console seats, I quietly settled on the deck, knees drawn up. There was little to do but watch the simulscreen. I wasn’t sure either Mr Tolliver or the Captain remembered I was there, or how they’d react when they found out. Still, I hadn’t been ordered elsewhere.

  Tolliver said tentatively, “We could begin ferrying crew aloft, sir.”

  “Not while fish are about. The shuttles are defenseless.”

  “There’s none here now.”

  “Damn it, Edgar!” Mr Seafort slammed the padded arm of his chair. Then his lips moved silently. “Amen. Sorry. Nerves.”

  “My point’s still valid.”

  “In the war, they went for lifepods and launches. All it takes is one fish at a shuttle, and we cause a horrid disaster.”

  “Sir, one fish at our fusion tubes, and the Navy’s finest ship is gone.”

  “This isn’t like the old days, Edgar. We’ve more banks of lasers defending the tubes than any other sector—”

  “Good. We can defend ourselves while sailing to Fusion safety.”

  “They’re acting strangely. If we flee, we won’t know why.”

  “We don’t need to know.”

  “And a flotilla of fish can take out a Station.”

  “Believe me, sir, I recall it well. Just promise me, no nukes this time.”

  “That’s not funny, Edgar.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  The speaker came to life. “Laser room to Bridge, Lieutenant Frand reporting.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Mr, ah, Dakko is inquiring about his son. You left him in Dining Hall. He’d like leave to see him.”

  “We can’t spare him from the console. Let them visit in the corridor outside the laser room. Send someone to fetch—”

  “I’m here, sir.” My voice was too shrill, and Mr Seafort jumped.

  “Very well. Randy, find young Mr Dakko. I might as well reopen corridor hatches; we can shut them rapidly enough if needed. Get Kevin from the Dining Hall, take him below to the laser room. He’s not to go in; make sure Lieutenant Frand knows that.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” I was proud of my response. It was becoming ever more natural.

  “Good lad. Hurry, now.”

  “And after?”

  He hesitated, ever so slightly. “Report back here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s still ‘Aye aye, sir.’”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Blushing, I made my exit.

  Without the burden of a vacuum suit, the corridor hatches opened, my trek was a pleasure. I’d been told never to run, but the corridor was deserted; officers and crew hadn’t been piped down from Battle Stations. I loped past the stairwell, past the armory, the officers’ mess, skidded to a stop at the ornate hatch of the Level 2 Dining Hall.

  No one had told the passengers to return to their cabins; they clustered about the tables, standing, sitting, talking anxiously.

  Kevin sat at the table that had been the Captain’s, hunched over, staring at the deck, twisting a napkin. My shadow fell over him. He looked up, his eyes bleak. “Is Dad all right?”

  “Mr Dakko? Sure. He’s asking for you. Come on.”

  I led him to the corridor, toward the stairwell.

  “Isn’t he on the bridge?”

  “Nope, the laser room. We were short on laser
techs.”

  “He’s shooting fish?” Kev sounded incredulous.

  “Sure. He’s an old Navy hand.” We ran down to Level 3.

  Section seven was almost halfway around the disk. A long hike, in a ship the size of Olympiad.

  Kev glanced at my uniform, somewhat wilted after an hour in a suit. “So … you like it here?”

  I tried to sound nonchalant. “Kinda.” We passed through section five. I grimaced. I wasn’t being honest. Besides, why hide it? Without Kev’s help I’d be in torment on the Bishop’s training farm. “It’s great. Mr Seafort has—”

  Alarms suddenly shrieked; a red bulb at the hatch panel blinked. The section hatch slid shut. I whirled, hoping we could get through before it locked, but the corridor hatch seal hissed into place.

  “Stand by for attack! Laser room, fire!”

  “Oh, shit.” I didn’t know I’d spoken aloud.

  “Attention all passengers and crew.” Mr Seafort’s voice was taut. “A fish just Defused meters from the hull, within our circle of fire. An outrider is emerging.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Easy, Kev.”

  “All hands to suits! If it melts through the hull, a section will decompress.”

  Kevin shook me. “Get us suits!”

  “I don’t know where!” No one had told me yet.

  “Find them, you stupid—”

  Did each section have a suit locker? I couldn’t remember. Alec was barely twelve, and his instruction was a bit haphazard. I ran to the end of the section. No locker. Perhaps the other way … I cannoned into Kevin, dashing after me.

  I picked myself up, raced to the closed section-four hatch.

  “Outrider launched!”

  I threw open a locker. “Here!” I hauled out a suit.

  New alarms clanged. “Hull breach imminent, Levels 2 and 3! Decompression alert, Level 2, sections four through seven!”

  “Christ, that’s us!” I tossed a suit to Kevin.

  “How do you …” He trailed off. A moan.

  I followed his gaze. Smoke curled from a patch of bulkhead. An acrid odor drifted across the corridor.

  “COME ON!” Dropping the useless suit, I dived for a cabin. It was locked. I tried the next. Locked. A third—

  The hatch slid open. “Kev, move!” I hauled him through, pounded on the hatch control.

  A puff of air. A wind, as the hatch slid shut.

  We were in an empty cabin, cleaned and ready for its occupant.

  The hatch panel warning light blinked red.

  Outside our refuge, section five was decompressed.

  They’d told me cabin hatches were airtight. Unconsciously, I held my breath, waiting to find out. Dad had died in just the same circum—

  DONT THINK OF IT!

  Kevin, his face pale, made himself small in a corner. He chewed at a fingernail.

  The Captain’s voice blared on the cabin speaker.

  “Decompression Level 2 section five! Master-at-arms Janks to section four, flank! Fully armed and suited. Class A decontamination procedures. Evacuate the section, we’ll make it an airlock to five.”

  I roused myself. The other night, exploring my own cabin, I’d found two suits in a locker by the closet. Every cabin was supposed to have them. I threw open the closet hatch, hauled them out.

  “Quick!” I thrust in a leg, realized I was trying to don the suit backward. “Kev, get moving!” I had my legs in, twisted wildly, managed to fit in an arm. The suit was way too big, designed for a large adult.

  In slow motion, Kevin picked up his suit. “Where’s my father?”

  “Laser room.”

  “Take me there.”

  “When it’s safe. Hurry. If that beast burns through …” I got my other arm in.

  Kev stood helplessly, holding his suit.

  I needed my helmet. We might decompress at any moment. But if I sealed my helmet, I’d never move well enough to help him. Cursing, I tossed it on the bed. “Your foot goes in like this …” My hands were almost useless, working through the thick gloves. Why had no one ever designed a convenient pressure suit? “Now the other. That’s it, joey.” My voice was soothing, as Mr Seafort’s had been. I thrust aside the thought. “Hurry, Kev. Bend your arm, this way. We’ll be all right. Now the other.”

  His helmet was still in the locker; I grabbed mine, thrust it on his head. “This twists on, and then those clamps …” In a moment it was done. Thank Lord God, Mr Tolliver had shown me how.

  I scrambled to the locker, fell on my face. Walking was harder in a suit, I knew that. Think, Randy. No time for panic. I fished out the helmet, and two spare tanks. The locker held four spares in total.

  I pulled on my helmet. “Kev, I’ll check your clamps, you check mine. We have to get it right the first time.”

  “Mr Janks, section five camera shows an outrider roaming the corridor. It’s burned into a handful of cabins. Use extreme caution. Is section four evacuated?”

  “Checking the last cabin, sir.”

  A muffled voice. Then, “What? No, Mr Dakko. I don’t know. Mr Janks, is the ship’s boy with you? Mr Carr, or his friend?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I think they’re tight, Kev. Is your tank light green?”

  “Which one—”

  “Inside the faceplate, left side.”

  “When we open, if you see a suited figure …” A long pause. “No, first priority is the outrider. Kill it at all costs.” Mr Seafort’s voice was heavy.

  “Even if …”

  “At all costs.”

  Mesmerized, I stared at the hatch, the caller, the bulkhead, waiting for acrid smoke to curl in our precious air.

  All we could do was wait.

  “Captain, Lawson is on his way back from the armory with laser rifles. If you give us another minute …”

  “Very well.”

  Kevin’s cheeks were wet.

  Randy, you idiot, the caller. I snatched it up, in clumsy fingers. How does one call the bridge? How does one call anywhere? No one had taught me the system yet. Wait. I’d once called the purser. There was a button … there.

  A buzz. Nothing. Then, miraculously, as if it were an ordinary day, “Purser’s office.” The voice was faint.

  All I could do was shout through my helmet. “This is Carr! Connect me to the bridge!”

  “Who?”

  “Randy Carr, the new ship’s boy!”

  Clicks. A pause.

  “Bridge. Seafort.” I could barely hear through the hindrance of the helmet.

  “Sir, it’s Randy. I’m in—”

  “Thank God!”

  “—a cabin in section five.”

  “Are you suited?”

  “Yes. So is Kev.”

  “Which cabin?”

  “I dunno!”

  “Look on the control panel.”

  I did. I ran back to the caller, feeling an idiot. “Two fifty-seven, sir!”

  “Randy …” His voice was quiet. “The corridor camera shows the outrider just outside your hatch.”

  I whimpered.

  “It may burn through to the cabin. Both of you, squeeze into the closet, shut the door. Master-at-arms, are you ready?”

  “We’ve a dozen lasers aimed at the section hatch. Willnet’s squad is guarding the section six hatch, just in case.”

  “They skitter fast, Mr Janks. Don’t let it get you.”

  “I can’t hide, sir! Not if I …” I gulped. “I can’t let go of the caller.” To die was one thing. To die alone was quite another.

  “Use your radio.”

  “Radio?”

  Lord knew what effort it required, but Mr Seafort made his voice calm. “Look to the belt at your waist. See the pad? Use frequency seven. Turn it on. Speak into the faceplate.”

  “Like this?”

  “No need to shout.” His voice echoed, close and reassuring. I dialed down the volume, ran to Kev, made the same adjustments on his belt as on mine. “Kev, hide
in the closet. Captain’s orders.”

  He swallowed. “It’s dark there.” He sounded like a small child.

  “Hurry.” I pulled his gloved hand.

  There was barely room for both of us. If I squeezed in first, I doubted I could coax Kevin in. I tugged at him, maneuvered him into the storage space.

  The cabin bulkhead began to smoke.

  “Randy, hide! Janks, I’m opening the corridor hatch for you. Hurry!”

  The alumalloy bulkhead plate dissolved. A whoosh of escaping air, then absolute silence, save for the frantic sawing of my breath.

  A form quivered at the entry.

  Desperately I pushed Kev deeper into the closet; there wasn’t space to shut the door.

  “There he is! Fire!” I couldn’t be hearing the speaker; there was no air. It must be my radio.

  The bulkhead hole enlarged; the form spurted through. The torn bulkhead glowed red from laser strikes.

  “Mr Seafort, it’s in the cabin with the boys! I’ve no shot without hitting them!”

  I squeezed my fists, summoning the dregs of my courage. “Sir, take the shot! Kill it!”

  “Janks, what’s it doing?”

  “I can’t get too close without… it’s standing there, sir.”

  “Hold your fire.”

  “You said … first priority was …”

  “I know, but … wait. If it moves toward the boys, toward the bulkhead, anywhere, burn it. But if you can save our joeys …”

  The outrider stood no more than three steps from me. Stood? It had no feet, nothing remotely like them. Colors swirled in its suit. No, in its skin. I’d read that in biology, years ago.

  The alien form quivered. In an instant it would skitter our way, and overwhelm me. I’d feel the touch of acid as my suit dissolved, then nothing.

  Abruptly it changed shape, seemed to shrink. Was it burning through the deck? It didn’t seem so.

  Kevin gripped my shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re not stupid. I don’t know why I said it. I really like you.” His voice was soft in my radio, though the alien couldn’t possibly hear him in vacuum.

  The alien quivered. Its outer skin bulged, extended toward us.

  “Not like this.” A sob. “I can’t die in a closet.” Kev tried to squeeze through.