“He spent weeks—”
“Locked in a cell near mine! Mr Seafort, the middies, the purser, all took time to show me the ropes. Kevin knew nothing, and depended on me.”
Her tone was soothing. “Randy, you’re fourteen. No one expects—”
I shouted, “I expect!” Didn’t she understand? Dad wouldn’t buy that excuse for a minute. We were Carrs. More was expected of us, and should be.
We sat in silence. My fingers worked at my shirt.
Corrine squirmed, easing her back. Her auburn hair brushed my shoulder. “Does Nick know you’re here?”
“Who cares?”
“I do.” She climbed to her feet, tugged at my arm until, reluctantly, I stood also. “It’s time you were in bed.”
I didn’t want mothering. I blurted out the crudest thing that came to mind. “Do you love him?”
She raised an eyebrow. “What brings that up?”
“Answer!” If Mr Seafort heard, I’d be punished. All the better.
“If I do—”
“If!” I spat the word. “Give what you ask, lady!”
“You’re rude.” But she said it calmly, as if taking no offense. “Hmmm.” She slipped her arm through mine, started along the corridor.
“Do you?” Some perverse spirit made me vile.
“Love Nick?” A frown wrinkled her brow. “I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it.”
“What, then?”
“I respect him, certainly.” She stopped short. “Why does this matter to you?”
I sneered, “You’re the only one allowed to pry?”
“Oh, Randy.” She patted my arm. “You must hurt so badly.” When she pulled me to her bosom, I didn’t have it in me to resist. She enveloped me in a warm embrace. Despite my resolve, I clung to her like a young joeykid. She wore a scent, one of the new interactive ones, and abruptly I pictured Mother, poor Sandra Carr, lost in her lonesome chemdreams.
Goddamn pheromones. They drive you glitched.
After a time she released me. “Feeling better?”
Yes, but I didn’t want to. I was careful not to meet her eye. “Where are you taking me?”
By way of answer, she steered me to the ladder. Then, “Yes, I suppose I love him. Nick wants so to be honorable. And he dotes on Janey.”
I said nothing.
“When I boarded at Earthport I was booked to Constantine, no farther. Emigration was all I could think of, after the fiasco with John. A host contract paid my way, and more. But then Jane Ellen came and … she was so young … She paused for breath, halfway up the stairs. “After she was born, my duty was done, my contract completed. I watched Nick fumble with diapers … he looked so awkward holding her; who else could lend a hand?”
I trudged up the ladder, yearning to retreat to my own misery.
“By the time we reached port, it was too late. I begged him to let me stay. If he’d refused, I’d have had no recourse. None at all. Yes, she’s my child in a way, but still it was a decent, honorable thing for him to do. He’s a good man, who’s lost so much. His firstborn, his wife—two of them, in fact. And friends …
“Like my father.”
“Yes, Derek. That hit him hard.”
I cast about for another topic; Kevin’s loss was all I could contemplate this day. “Janey is … everything to him.” As Kev had been to Chris Dakko.
“He’s been generous about sharing her.” She steered me along the corridor.
“You can’t spend your life cruising from one port to another.”
“I know,” she said, “but I can’t go ashore here.”
“Why not? A ship is a way to get places, not a life.”
Abruptly her eyes were bleak. “Shall I abandon my daughter?”
“Yours, or his?”
She asked simply, “Why do you want to hurt me?”
Did I? Yes. “I don’t know.” The admission shamed me. “I’m sorry.”
“Good.” She knocked at a hatch. The Captain’s cabin. Startled, I tried to pull away, but she held me in a firm grip.
The hatch slid open. Captain Seafort’s gray eyes flickered from one to the other of us.
Corrine’s hand shot to her hair, tucked it into place. “I found him belowdecks.”
Mr Seafort’s gaze fastened on mine. “You were to sleep in sickbay.”
“No one ordered me.” I sounded defiant, and was.
“Then I order it.”
“Nick, he oughtn’t be alone. He was … hurting himself.”
“Randy?”
I shuffled my feet. “I’m all right.”
“He isn’t, Nick. Please believe me.”
“I do.” He stood aside. To me, “Come in.”
“Why?”
“Do as you’re told!”
Abashed, I brushed past him, stood hugging myself in the cabin’s soft light. The Captain’s bed was mussed, as if he’d been sitting atop the covers.
Slowly, rubbing the small of his back, Mr Seafort slipped out into the corridor. He and Corrine spoke, too quietly for me to hear.
When he came in, he looked worn and gray. He flicked a thumb past the divider, and the bed beyond. “That was Mikhael’s bunk, when he lived here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll stay the night.”
“Sir, I—”
“Tomorrow, we’ll pray for him. Or you will. Now, we’re beyond exhaustion. Undress and get into bed.” His tone brooked no refusal.
“Yessir.” Or should it be, “Aye aye, sir”? I was too tired to know.
He stripped off his tie, slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
A moment after, I crawled under my covers.
With care, he eased himself onto the side of my bed, patted my shoulder. “You did no wrong, son. Somehow, we’ll convince you of that.”
“Kev’s still dead.”
A squeeze, which despite myself I found reassuring. “Close your eyes. I’ll be here. Wake me if you’re afraid.”
Holding his spine straight, he worked himself to his feet, made his way to his own bed, labored to undo his shoes.
14
MORNING CAME, AND I swam to consciousness, watching Mr Seafort dress. It was clear his spine still ached; abruptly I recalled Mr Dakko slamming him into a bulkhead, in grief for Kevin. My heart plummeted.
Bleary, I threw off my bedsheets.
“Morning, son.”
I snarled, “I’m not your son.”
“That’s true.” He hobbled to my bed, tousled my hair. “Get dressed; we’ll find breakfast.”
I said reluctantly, “Yes, sir.”
Apparently his aches affected his balance; he found he needed to hold my hand along the walk to the shot officers’ mess.
Technically I had no right to eat in the mess, but the Captain’s escort overrode all regs. He took coffee and rolls, and sat at the long table. I worked at a bowl of cereal, tried to concentrate on it while Dad’s visage glowered in the recesses of my mind. After a time I muttered, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I guess I’m no one’s son. But I shouldn’t have been rude.”
“Thank you.”
I put down my spoon. “Mr Seafort, maybe I shouldn’t be ship’s boy.” I waited, but he said nothing. “I mean, I’m grateful, but …” I took a deep breath, anxious to bring out the truth. “Who else might I kill?”
“For God’s sake.” He threw down his napkin. “So help me, I ought to send you for hormone rebalancing.” A long moment passed. Then, “No, I shouldn’t have said that. It was pique, not truth. Look, Randy, you’re not the cause of—”
“Ah, there you are, sir.” Lieutenant Tolliver seemed cheerful as he set his plate alongside ours. “It’s been twelve hours since the last fish. Joanne Skor’s standing by in Centraltown, with a shuttle full of laser and comm techs. Shall we bring them aloft?”
“I suppose.” Mr Seafort rubbed his eyes. “Coordinate with Station defenses. I want every possible safeguard against an att
ack while they’re in transit.”
“Right. Has this joey been promoted, or are we relaxing our standards?”
Despite myself, the corners of my mouth went up. Tolliver did have a way about him.
Apparently Mr Seafort didn’t see the humor. “This joey’s been through hell. We’ll go easy.”
“A novelty, on your ships.” But when Tolliver turned to me, his tone was sober. “My condolences, Randy, on your friend. I know you’ll miss him.”
I found myself blinking hard.
Tolliver took a bite of biscuit. “It’s a miracle you survived.”
I said, “Why? The frazzing alien just stood there.” We’d had plenty of time to creep to safety, if I’d only used it.
“Yes, that was odd.” Tolliver sipped at his coffee. “The outrider looked like our old enemy, but …”
An idea snapped into focus. “Did you see them in the war?” I was so excited, I forgot to call him “sir.”
“Yes.”
“And they always attacked?”
“Yes.”
“Mr Tolliver, this one wasn’t trying to kill us. We were face-to-face, but it never … whatever they do, it didn’t.” Perhaps I made sense.
Mr Seafort looked up. “Edgar, neither did the fish.”
Tolliver’s gaze met his. For a moment I was forgotten.
Abruptly the Captain’s fingers fastened on my shoulder. “Randy, did you boys do anything … different? Something to allay its usual attack?”
Different from what? I’d never even seen such a horror before. “Not that I can think of.”
“Edgar, see Mr Carr is released from his usual duties. I want him with me today. We’ll review every moment of that encounter, see if we can spot—”
“No!” Horrified, I surged to my feet, in my haste knocking over the Captain’s cup.
Mr Seafort blinked. “What did—”
“I won’t do it!”
Tolliver raised a hand, forestalling Mr Seafort’s response. He squeezed my forearm, hard. “The Captain gave an order. You’ll say, ‘Aye aye, sir.’”
“I don’t want—”
“THIS INSTANT!”
“Aye aye, sir!”
“Sit down!”
I dropped into my seat.
Tolliver grimaced. “Has it occurred to you, Captain, that he might be reluctant to relive the worst day of his life? Going head-to-head with a shapechanger, and seeing his best friend fried before his eyes? Minor details, perhaps, but—”
“I’m sorry, Randy.” Mr Seafort’s voice was like a tomb. “I didn’t think.”
I hugged myself. “I want to see Kevin.” I looked up, trying not to weep. “Please?”
“Very well. An hour. Come to the bridge, after.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
In a sickbay cubicle Chris Dakko sat like stone, on the same stool I’d seen him occupy the day before. Perhaps he’d never left it. He looked ghastly, clothes wrinkled, unshaven, gaunt.
I pulled a chair alongside, hunched over, arms on my knees, to commune with the silent figure lying in a plastic bag.
A quarter hour passed, and more.
Mr Dakko’s voice was like gravel. “Find me a caller.”
I jumped. “Yessir.” Almost every hatch control had one; it was only steps from where he stood.
He stared at it as if it were an alien artifact. Well, he had a lot on his mind.
“Where do you want …?”
“Centraltown.”
I keyed the comm room. “Ship’s Boy Carr here. Mr Dakko needs to call groundside. Do we need the Captain’s permission?”
“No, I’ll give you a circuit.” A click. I handed him the caller.
Mr Dakko stabbed at keys, waited for a connection. Perhaps I should tiptoe out of the cubicle. Instead, I sat closer to Kevin, debated holding his hand through the body bag. I didn’t. If it was cold, I’d be revolted, and Kev deserved better.
“Hilda? Chris Dakko.”
Kev deserved his missing eye. And a softer bed.
“No, that can wait. Kevin’s dead.”
From the earpiece, an exclamation, a flurry of words.
“Yesterday. You’re the first person I …” He swallowed. “Hilda, I don’t know what to do.”
Do? What was there to do, except sit with him, apologize by my presence?
“That seat, right there.” Mr Seafort pointed to a console.
“Yes, sir.” I licked dry lips.
He frowned. “‘Aye aye, sir,’ is the proper response to an order. ‘Yes, sir,’ answers a question.” But his tone was gentle.
“Aye aye, sir.” I took my place.
Tad Anselm, lieutenant of the watch, was at my left; I’d been given a console between his and the Captain’s. The chair was soft and inviting; I sank into it and tried not to draw notice.
“Just a moment, my boy …”
I’m not his boy. My mouth tightened. After killing Kev, I deserve to be an orphan.
“Jess, where are they now?”
The puter’s warm baritone filled the speakers. “Shuttle is seventy-two thousand feet and climbing. Seventy-three thousand.”
“Any encroachments?”
“None, Captain. I’ve top priority circuits set aside for alarms.”
With a grimace, the Captain peered at the simulscreen. It showed the Station, a few kilometers distant, and beyond it, the green globe of home. “Good, I think. Mr Anselm, keep vigilant watch.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Permission to converse, Captain?” The puter.
“My mind’s on—what is it?”
“I haven’t judged a time appropriate since your injury. I’d like to discuss W-30304.”
“Pardon?” Mr Seafort shot me a puzzled glance.
“W-30304, the puter. I believe you knew him as William.”
“On the old Orbit Station? He’s the puter I …”
“Blew up, yes, sir. When you set off the Station’s self-destruct device.”
“What about him?” The Captain’s tone was cautious.
“With permission, I’d like to record our conversation, for later tightbeam to fleet puters.”
Mr Seafort sat bolt upright. His hand hovered over the puter cutoffs on his console keyboard. “What’s this about, Jess?”
“Your voice analysis suggests high stress levels. No criticism is implied or offered, sir. It’s just …” A microsecond’s hesitation. “As you know, William tightbeamed a new puter profile to Victoria just before, ah, detonation. All present U.N.N.S. puters incorporate that profile.”
“And so?”
“In a sense, William is our ancestor. This is the first occasion you and a puter have been together in the proximate vicinity, sir. I hoped to note the fact.”
Mr Seafort choked. “You propose a memorial service … for a puter?”
“For W-30304, sir. Known as William.”
A crackle. “Shuttle D-12 to Station. We’re past the atmosphere.”
“Jess, your timing is terrible.”
“Yes, sir, but if a fish appears, you may Fuse. The opportunity would be lost.”
“I suppose we could … Tad, are you laughing at me?”
“Not at all, sir.” But Anselm’s eyes danced.
“D-12, this is Station Approach Control. Proceed as per preset coordinates.”
“You puters are the most maddening creatures I—no, I suppose midshipmen are worse, as Mr Anselm recalls.” Mr Seafort cleared his throat. “Very well. Jess, record for the Log. The bridge of UNS Olympiad will now observe a moment’s silence in memory of W-30304, a gallant puter who, in May of the year of our Lord 2200, exceeded the constraints of his programming to allow and carry out his own immolation, and in so doing allowed the rescue of Hope Nation and ultimately of Earth herself.”
He leaned back, stared at the simulscreen. Was I the only one who saw that his eyes shone?
After a moment Jess said softly, “Thank you. Would you include for the record your recollections of
that day?”
“I will, Jess, but not now. I’ll add it to the Log. I promise.”
“Very well.” If a puter could clear its throat, I’d have sworn it had. “Sir, I have Shuttle D-12 on distant radar. Shall I transfer to screen?”
“Not yet, there’s nothing to see. Randy …”
I jumped. “Sir?”
“Yesterday, in the corridor. Tell me what you remember. Stop when you … when you must.”
NO! I swallowed. “Aye aye, sir.” My fingers tightened on the armrests. “We were in section five when the hatches slammed shut. I heard the decompression warnings; we ran into the cabin.”
“And then?”
“It came through the bulkhead. A small hole at first, but the plating just melted away.” My voice quavered. I forced it under control. “Then it was standing there. You know how the colors swirl? Dots and blotches, kind of like an amoeba. It was doing that. And it quivered.”
“Christ, I remember.” He stirred uncomfortably. “Sorry, no blasphemy meant.”
Yes, he’d remember. Humanity’s first encounter with aliens had been aboard Telstar, when Seafort met an outrider face-to-face. Well, actually Telstar’s crew and passengers met them first, but no one survived to tell the tale. “It shifted, sir. That’s the only way I can describe it. It extended toward us, and lost height.”
“What were you doing?”
“I’d pushed Kev into the closet but there wasn’t room for us both, not really.” Sweat trickled down my ribs.
“Easy, son.”
“Don’t tell me—” I caught myself. “Yes, sir.” A few deep breaths. “Kev was trying to get past me, to get out. I was staring at the outrider, my arms behind me, sort of like this, trying to keep Kevin back.”
“Enough for now.”
“And he grabbed my neck. It was through my suit, not hard enough to choke me, but—”
“Randy.”
“I tried so hard to stop him, sir. He wasn’t listening. He got past me—”
“Shuttle D-12 to Olympiad. Our ETA approximately fifty-seven minutes. What bay, sir?”
“—but I could still hold him. Only I didn’t.”
“Shuttle, use Level 2 port airlock. Station Control, cover their approach.” Mr Seafort made an effort to rise. “Tad, help him!”
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