Children of Hope

by David Feintuch

  “Edgar, please.”

  “No, you please.” Real anger infused Tolliver’s voice. “We’ve hundreds of lives at stake, and a colossal ship—”

  “Be silent! I order you!”

  Tolliver shot him a laser glance, but obeyed.

  “I cherish you, Edgar, but you’ve made your position clear. Let me concentrate.”

  Anselm raised an eyebrow, looked about for someone to share astonishment with, settled on me.

  “Olympiad, maneuver away from the alien! This is the last time I’ll—”

  “May I have the caller?” Anthony’s tone was cool. “Thank you. General Thurman, this is Stadholder Carr, aboard Olympiad.”

  “Yes, sir. Tell that lunatic—”

  “I declare a state of emergency. For the duration of the emergency I name Nicholas Seafort as operating commander in theater. Do as he says, sir, or face court-martial.”

  “I—but—”

  “Please acknowledge your orders.” He handed the caller back to Mr Seafort.

  “Understood and acknowledged, Stadholder. Mr Seafort, I’m standing by for instructions.” Thurman didn’t sound at all pleased.

  Mr Seafort turned to Anth, his tone ironic. “Well done. You’re a match for Jerence in diplomacy.” Then, “Thank you, General. Please train your lasers on the fish. If it, or any other alien, nears my fusion tubes, obliterate it.”

  “Yes, Captain. Gladly.” Thurman’s voice was dark.

  “Avoid hitting my tubes, but disregard peripheral damage.”

  “Midshipman Tamarov reporting, sir.” Mik’s voice was muffled. “We’re suited and in place on Level 1.”

  “Very well.”

  “May I speak, sir?” Tolliver. His company manners, no doubt.

  “Go ahead.”

  “You’ve isolated Level 2 section four, from above, below, and both sides. Why?”

  “You’ll see in a moment. I’m waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “Outrider, sir!” Tad Anselm’s voice was shrill.

  Everyone jumped, even Anthony and I.

  “For that. Edgar, stand by the thrusters.”

  On the fish’s body, colors swirled.

  “Olympiad, Thurman here. Do you see it?”

  The swirl blurred. The outrider was through. For a moment it remained on the fish’s surface, quivering. Then it launched itself. It grew in the screen.

  It was the one that killed Kevin. No, it couldn’t be, but…

  I stumbled across the bridge, grabbed Mr Seafort’s hand, squeezed hard.

  “Edgar, pull us away! Match velocities!”

  “Match—where’s the bloody Pilot when we need him?” Tolliver stabbed at the controls.

  The outrider drifted ever closer.

  “I have full faith in you, Edgar.” The Captain’s tone was dry. Eyes glued to the screen, he pried his hand from my desperate grip, set me in front of him, massaged my shoulders.

  The outrider was nearly upon us. Abruptly, Anselm switched views. Now the screen showed both the outrider and our own hull. The outrider would hit amidships, in the disks.

  “Captain, pull clear and give me a shot!”

  “Belay that, Thurman!” Mr Seafort’s voice was acid.

  No atmosphere impeded us, but Olympiad’s mass was huge. Slowly, squirting prodigious amounts of propellant, the starship began to recede from the Station, and the fish. The outrider, between us, seemed to slow.

  “Not too fast, Edgar.”

  “You want stunt pilotage, in this behemoth?” Tolliver lapsed into dark muttering.

  Mr Seafort kneaded my shoulder blades. “Steady, son.”

  “I’m not your—” I bit it off. I was his son, now. “Sir, I’m …” I dropped my voice. “… scared.”

  “Of course, so am I. Edgar, not too fast. Match, don’t exceed.”

  “Look, sir, the fish!” Anselm.

  I swung to the simulscreen, expecting to see the fish pulse, prior to Fusing.

  Blowholes opened in its side. Wisps of propellant shot out. The alien form began to grow. Never mind him; he was two hundred meters distant. Where was the frazzing outrider?

  “I’ll be damned,” said Tad. “The fish is following us. Why doesn’t it throw?”

  “Captain?” Anthony’s voice was hesitant. “Are you sure this is wise?”

  “Laser room to Bridge.”

  “What, Ms Frand?”

  “Mr, uh, Auxiliary Tech Dakko asks to speak to you.”

  “Very well.”

  A click. “Let me kill it, sir. Please.”

  “Not yet, Chris.”

  “It looks like the one who …”

  “I know. Not yet.”

  “I have the shot!” His voice was agonized.

  “Wait, or be relieved.”

  “You son of a bitch.” The line went dead.

  “Shall I deal with him, sir?” Tolliver.

  “Stay with the thrusters. Nudge the starboard array.”

  “That’ll slow us.”

  “Yes. Jess, seal all corridor hatches.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.” The puter was all business.

  Time stood still. In a daze, I watched the Station recede.

  “Captain?” Anthony.

  “I’m sorry you’re aboard for this, Stadholder. I put you at risk.”

  “Oh, nonsense!” For a moment Anthony sounded so like Dad that my eyes welled. “But I understand Thurman’s confusion. What in God’s name are we doing?”

  “Turning from genocide.”

  Before us floated the outrider, its velocity almost perfectly matched with our own. Some sixty meters off our port side, it could neither recede nor advance. Behind it, the fish, somewhat erratically, kept pace.

  “Careful, Edgar, keep them both between the Station and ourselves.”

  “To infuriate Thurman?”

  “Relieve me if you dare, Lieutenant, or behave.” Mr Seafort’s voice was sharp.

  “Just a moment, I’m deciding.”

  The Captain looked to me, rolled his eyes. Despite myself, I smiled.

  “Now, Edgar, ever so gently, counteract our thrust.”

  “That’s insane. The outrider will—”

  “Go to your quarters. Mr Anselm, take the thrusters.”

  For a long moment, Tolliver was still. Then, “I apologize, sir. I was out of line. Please disregard it.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad to. Bear with me, Edgar. If I’m wrong, I’m horribly so, but …”

  “Yes?”

  “I want so to be right.” The Captain kneaded my shoulders.

  I couldn’t feel us slow. I couldn’t see it on the screen. But, inexorably, the outrider began to close the gap between us.

  Mr Seafort bent over his console, flicked a row of switches. His other hand gripped me tight. I wanted to pull my shoulder free, but didn’t dare. He’d be alone, and so would I.

  Forty meters. Thirty.

  Twenty.

  The fish, behind the drifting alien, maintained its distance.

  “Edgar, to port a trifle, and bring the bow up.”

  “You want the outrider to hit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where, exactly?”

  “Level 2.”

  “I was afraid so. When it melts through, we’ll decompress.”

  Ten meters.

  “Not if …”

  Five meters. Two. It touched.

  In horror, I stared at the screen. Holocams swept the hull. On the screen, the outrider clung to an outboard sensor.

  The puter came to life. Alarms shrieked. “Boarder detected! Decompression warning, section four Level 2!”

  “Jess.” Mr Seafort stabbed at the alarm, bringing blessed silence.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  Mr Seafort took a deep breath. “Open the Level 2 airlock.”

  “No!” Tad Anselm and Tolliver, as one. Tad’s words were a blur. “Not in our ship, sir. Please. Reconsider, I beg you.”

  “There’s nowhere
else.”

  A console light blinked a warning red. I watched the screen with horrified fascination.

  The outer airlock hatch was flush with the hull. Slowly, it slid open, revealing the compartment within.

  The outrider quivered, ten meters distant.

  “Level 2 section four airlock hatch opened.” Jess’s tone was urbane.

  “Mr Janks, Midshipmen, stand ready to fire!”

  Mikhael’s tone was uneasy. “At what, sir?”

  “At an outrider. If it burns through the deck from below, exterminate it. Mr Ghent, you get that?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m aiming at the overhead.”

  “You’re suited?”

  “You’d better believe it.” A moment’s pause. “Sorry, sir.”

  A grim chuckle. “Noted.”

  I murmured, as if fearful the alien might hear me, “Does it have eyes? Does it see?”

  “You’ve been as close to an outrider as any of us, son.”

  I shuddered. Must he remind me of that?

  The creature flitted across the hull,

  I clutched Mr Seafort.

  It skittered into our lock.

  “Oh, no!” A cry of dismay. I wasn’t aware I’d spoken until Mr Seafort patted me reassuringly.

  “Cycle the lock, Jess.”

  “Sir, my programming requires me to preserve—”

  “Overridden. Log it and cycle the frazzing lock.” Mr Seafort’s tone was calm, but …

  “Noted. Logged. Lock cycling.”

  Mr Seafort keyed the corridor holocam. The view changed.

  The section four corridor was deserted. The airlock hatch could barely be seen.

  Someone pulled me aside. Anthony. He barely breathed the words. “Does he know what he’s doing?”

  “How would I know?”

  “You’ve been with him longer—”

  “I’m not Navy, I barely know my way around the ship. I got Kevin killed. I—”

  “Lock cycled, sir.” The puter. “Inner hatch open, outer hatch closed.”

  “Randy, what’s your judgment?”

  All our quarrels, all my resentments, fell away. God, I loved Anth so. When all was said and done, he trusted me. I put my lips to his ear, lest we be overheard. “Mr Seafort doesn’t know the aliens: who does? But … he’s wise, Anth. Wise and decent.” I found myself trembling. “If anyone could replace Dad, it’s he.”

  Anthony whispered, “Good enough.” He clapped me on the shoulder.

  “There he is!” Tad pounded his console.

  In the viewscreen, a shape flitted about the corridor hatchway.

  I gulped, swallowing bile. If only it didn’t quiver.

  We watched.

  The alien form skittered into the corridor.

  “Close inner hatch.”

  “Closed.” Jess. Console lights returned to green.

  Tolliver bestirred himself. “Very well, it’s on board. How do we capture it?”

  Mr Seafort said, “We don’t.”

  “What, then?”

  “See if it tries to burn through.”

  “Of course it will; what else? The section’s empty.”

  A sigh. “I know. It’s time.” Mr Seafort stood.

  “Where do you think you’re off to?”

  “These are my orders.” Mr Seafort’s tone was flat. “If I’m killed, destroy the outrider and the fish Outside.”

  “If you’re killed, I become Captain, and follow my own orders.” Tolliver’s tone was savage.

  “Jess, record. Modification in Olympiad’s standing orders that apply to any person assuming the captaincy. Upon my death, the Captain is to send the Stadholder groundside, give our passengers a day’s notice to join us. He’s to proceed to Kall’s Planet and home.”

  “Recorded and Logged.”

  Mr Seafort crossed to the hatch. “Edgar, be careful of decontamination. One slip and—”

  Tolliver bolted from his chair, slipped between the Captain and the hatch. “I beg you, don’t do this.”

  Frantically, I pawed at Anthony. “Where’s he going?”

  “I must.” Mr Seafort made as if to go around, but Tolliver sidestepped him, barring his way.

  “Edgar, I warn you …”

  “Nick, for God’s sake, you mustn’t!”

  The Captain’s voice was bleak. “For God’s sake, I must.”

  I cried, “Where are you going?”

  Mr Seafort looked at me, as if for the first time. “Why, to section four.”

  Sometimes, when day is done, you find yourself unutterably weary. You have a dream, or live it, you’re not sure which. Time freezes, while you cross the deck, stumbling in your haste. You rush to his side, but he won’t notice you. You slip under Tolliver’s outstretched arms that bar his way. You back into the bulkhead across the corridor. You stand, mouth working, watching the unspoken drama play out.

  You see him grasp Tolliver’s shoulders, embrace him, set him gently aside. You watch him trudge through the hatch, limp along the corridor toward the ladder. You fall in alongside.

  You tug at his arm, but he doesn’t notice.

  You ignore your tears, dart in front of him. “Mr Seafort?” Your voice is distant, as in a dream.

  He moves around you. You grasp his lapels, pull him to a halt. “Sir! Captain!”

  “You mustn’t do that. We’re on duty, and it’s forbidden.” His voice comes from afar.

  You bang your head against his chest. “Sir! Listen!” You take a deep breath, and another, but it doesn’t bring calm. You force your tongue and lips to utter the forbidden word. “Father …” No one strikes you dead. “Please. I have to go too.”

  “Absolutely not.” He looks past you, to the ladder.

  “You won’t do it without me.” You’re trembling, and don’t know why. The dream is strange, your grip on his lapels fierce. “Father, sir, it’s the most important favor I’ll ever ask. I have to see it.” The encounter. The outrider.

  His steps slow, and stop. “Why, Randy?”

  Because it killed Kevin, and you have to know why. Because in this hour you might lose your new father. Because …

  Somehow, you make your voice resolute. “Because I’m your son.”

  Slowly, his gaze makes its way from the ladder, to the corridor, to the deck, to the bulkhead, to you. “You understand what I …”

  “Yes!”

  An infinity passes. Your grip eases; he will do what he does, and you’ve no power to change him. You’re not truly his son, never will be.

  His hand comes out, waits for yours.

  “Very well, son. Come along.”

  And he leads you to the ladder.

  Part III

  January, in the Year of our Lord 2247

  16

  THE SECTION SIX LOCKER was crammed with suits. Mr Seafort watched me select one, made sure it was the right size, helped me climb into it. Abruptly his eyes widened. “Oh, Lord.”

  “What, sir?”

  “I helped Derek with a suit, just before …” He said no more. He secured my helmet, keyed the locker’s caller. “Seafort to Bridge.”

  “Here, sir.” Tolliver.

  “What’s it doing?”

  “Skittering about. Exploring. Measuring us for coffins. Who the hell knows?”

  “Easy.”

  “Sorry.”

  The Captain walked me toward the corridor hatch.

  “Where’s yours, Father?” My voice was still shaky. Had it been a dream, our encounter in the corridor? Somehow, I doubted it.

  “I’ll wear none.”

  “Then I won’t—”

  “No.” He pulled me along. “Out of the question.”

  “Why won’t you—”

  “If the outrider means to kill me, it will. I’ve fought them all my life. Now, I lay down my arms.”

  “Sir, I’m not arguing, but …” But I wanted desperately to argue. I forced my words aside. “Help me understand.”

  “You’ve never h
ad to kill.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Kevin wasn’t your faul—”

  “Not him, the deacon by the heli. I broke his neck to escape the Church farm.”

  “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten.” He patted me, as if it didn’t matter. “Do you feel good about it?”

  I wanted to retch. “No.”

  “Multiply it a thousandfold. More.”

  I couldn’t conceive of it.

  “All these years,” he said, “I thought I’d done genocide. I thought no fish were left, that Lord God had led me to the most vile deed imaginable. I’ve ha—hate”—His face contorted. “—hated Him for it.”

  “But they’re killers. They bombed Centraltown, destroyed the fleet, murdered—”

  “Before I die, I’d like to know why.”

  “Will we die?”

  “I hope not. Will you wait outside?”

  “No.” I strove for calm, and this time, found it. “No, Father.”

  An armed guard was at the hatch to five. Mr Seafort—Father—said simply, “Open.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He stabbed at the panel.

  The hatch slid open. At the far end of the section, barely visible past the corridor curve, half a dozen suited guards aimed laser rifles and pistols at the hatch to four.

  We trudged along the corridor.

  I swallowed. Five was where Kevin had died, where I’d sat in the corridor slamming my head against the bulkhead. Where Corrine had found me, and led me to salvation.

  “She’s kind, and good, and lonely.”

  He asked, “Who is?”

  “Ms Sloan.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “You should pay her more attention.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” As we neared the far hatch, he stopped, bent, looked me in the eye. For a time he said nothing. Then, “Son, if I—” He blinked, started over. “I ask a favor, but if you don’t want to grant it …”

  “Tell me.”

  “Before we go in, forgive me for Derek. I mean, if you can. If it doesn’t—oh, Lord Christ!” He broke away, stared at the bulkhead. “Can you forgive it?” His voice was muffled. “It would mean … everything.”

  “But you didn’t kill him. I only thought you had.”

  “Not kill him. Led him to …” His eyes glistened. “I’m sorry I asked. I’ll bear my own—”

  I clawed at my helmet seals, tore them free, breathed the fresh corridor air. If he asked this of me, it meant …