Children of Hope

by David Feintuch

I marveled.

  I truly had value to him.

  “Father, did I kill Kevin?”

  “No. He died of his own foolishness.”

  “Did you kill Derek?”

  A long silence. “No, he died of his own heroism, that he sought.”

  All I could think to say was what I’d heard from him. “I absolve you. Even unto death. Whatever your part in it, I forgive.” And it was so; the last dregs of my bitterness melted away, at least for the time. I tried to smile. “Now, let’s not kill ourselves too.”

  “Lord God bless you, son.” His spine seemed straighter as he led me to the section hatch. “You there. Boritz.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Who among you has a spare weapon?”

  “Rifle or pistol?”

  “Pistol.”

  The guards huddled together, produced a laser pistol. Father checked the safety, put it in my hand. “You know how to use it?”

  “Anthony showed me. We carved figures in tree trunks.”

  “How quaint. Pay attention, now. The aiming light is automatic, whenever this safety is off. Don’t turn the intensity past midrange, or you’ll risk burning through the hull.” He scowled. “Use this only to save your own life. Not mine.”

  “I won’t let that outrider—”

  “‘Yes, sir, I’ll do what I’m told.’” Father’s eyes were frosty. “Don’t keep me waiting, I have an appointment. ‘Yes, sir.’ Right now, Randy.”

  “Yes, sir. Just to save my life.” If I had to begin with disobedience and a lie, so be it.

  “You guards, retreat to six, until I’ve gone through to four and the hatch is closed. Randy, you’ll remain at the hatch. Watch, but don’t interfere.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  I said, “If it touches you …” The outriders bore acid that burned away a neck, left only one staring eye. What was I doing here?

  “I’ll try to stay clear of it.”

  I was going along to help Father. Wouldn’t I have done the same for Dad, without an instant’s thought?

  How could I be so brave and so cowardly, at once? Dad knew no fear. I was his son as well as Mr Seafort’s. I must act in a way to make him proud. I bent myself to the effort. “Ready, sir.” Behind us, the hatch to six was closing. We were alone in the section.

  “Very well.” Father locked my helmet in place, switched on my suit speaker. He keyed the hatchway caller. “Edgar, I’m going in.”

  “It’s at the far end, at the moment. The bloody thing races incredibly fast.”

  “So I’ve seen.”

  “Godspeed Nick.” Tolliver’s voice caught. “Sir, for all the trouble I’ve been, over the years, I …”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Oh, let me; I’ll never feel this way again. I apologize. And I salute you.”

  “Bless you, Edgar.”

  Father opened the hatch.

  Together, we went through.

  There, near a cabin hatch. A misshapen form. Blotches and dots swirled on its outer layer.

  “That’s far enough, Randy. Safety off. Shoot if it comes at you.”

  I licked my lips. “Yessir.”

  As if on his way to officers’ mess, Mr Seafort ambled down the corridor. Only the clenching and unclenching of his fist betrayed his tension.

  The alien froze.

  Father halted.

  The outrider quivered, lurched, flitted toward him with dismaying speed. I raised my pistol.

  It stopped just short of him.

  He took a step back.

  It quivered in mid-deck, a moth poised for flight.

  No feet, no face. How does it see? How does it move so fast? How does it …

  “I mean no harm,” Father said.

  The alien was silent.

  “We speak with words. With sounds. Do you emit sounds?”

  Nothing.

  “Father! …”

  “Not another sound!” He sounded furious. I was hurt, until I realized he feared I’d attract its attention.

  Father raised a palm, held it outward. Lord God, don’t try to shake hands, it’ll burn off your arm.

  The alien sagged, became bloated near its base. Oddly shaped blotches swirled in its skin.

  Mesmerized, I watched. Was the outrider swelling, like a balloon? No, the shape was too irregular.

  Cautiously, Father took a step backward.

  The outrider extended itself toward Mr—toward Father. It wavered, sank even lower.

  In another moment it was barely a meter off the deck.

  My voice was a whisper. “It’s dying.”

  “Put it out of its misery.” The sudden blare of the speaker made me jump.

  “Shush, Edgar.”

  The alien form became ever more shapeless. Within its protoplasm bulged an irregularly shaped blob.

  Mr Seafort asked, “Is it the oxygen? Should I suit up and de-air the section?”

  “Shoot it first.”

  The outrider was little more than a puddle on the deck.

  “Did we give it a virus?” Father regarded the inert form.

  On its skin, colors continued to swirl. I licked dry lips. “It’s still alive.”

  The Captain took a step back, then another.

  From the alien, no response. Slowly it gathered itself, grew off the deck.

  The Captain stared intently.

  It was a meter high, and growing.

  Father retraced his steps. The outrider had regained half its height. The Captain stood before it.

  The alien began to shrink. In a moment, it was a viscous, lumpy puddle.

  “It’s our presence, Edgar. My body is killing it!”

  “Good!”

  “Don’t say that.” Father backed away.

  The alien rose, couldn’t maintain itself, collapsed anew.

  I suppressed an urge to stomp on it, splash its protoplasm on the bulkheads. It, or its brother, killed Kevin. But first it reduced him to a terrified child pleading for his daddy.

  I had a vision of Kev at the swimming hole, tall and strong and bold, swinging out over the pond. The games we played, that idyllic summer.

  The alien rose, drooped again. A misshapen puddle, not an inch of it lifted off the deck plates.

  “Edgar, it’s dying. I’ll get a suit. Prepare to decompress four.” Father strode to a locker. “Maybe that will save—”

  A bolt of lightning held me transfixed.

  “Sir, no!” I stumbled after him, almost fell. “It’s not dying, it’s—it’s—”

  “What, boy?”

  “Like Kevin, last summer, when he’d twist my arm, get me down. Don’t you see?”

  Again the alien reassembled into a stiffened form. Once more it splashed itself on the alloy deck.

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “It’s …” I danced in frenzy. “… submitting!” Kev would hold me to the ground until I acknowledged his strength. But I was stubborn and wouldn’t yield, not ’til he … “He keeps trying to yield to you!”

  “Does it see us?”

  “It has to!”

  “You’re too close, son.” He waited, with growing impatience, until I retreated a few steps.

  Careful not to touch the mass of protoplasm, the Captain got to his knees. Then, with an effort, he lowered himself to the deck, lay prone. After a moment he climbed to his feet.

  The outrider lay supine.

  Father banged the bulkhead with his fist, made a rising motion.

  Nothing.

  Again, Father lay down on the deck, climbed to his knees, got to his feet.

  Half a minute passed, that seemed like hours.

  The alien reared up, sucking its protoplasm into new forms. In a moment it stood quivering before us.

  Father’s voice was soft. “Randy, lend me your pistol.”

  “Set it on high, sir. Burn it to smudge, and get the hell out of there.”

  “Don’t blaspheme, Edgar.”

  I put the pi
stol in his hand. He narrowed the beam, set it to low. Kneeling, he aimed at the deck. Carefully, he traced a small circle. It etched a curved line in the plate.

  Then, carefully, he etched six smaller circles around it.

  I asked, “What’s that, sir?”

  “The solar system.” Ours, not Father’s. Hope Sun had six planets in orbit.

  When he was done, he stepped back, waited.

  The corridor holocam whirred.

  The alien did nothing. I eased backward, step by step, toward the hatch. The damn quivering was driving me crazy. And now Mr Seafort had the pistol; I couldn’t even defend myself.

  Abruptly the alien sagged, but not all the way. Spreading its base, it flowed over the deck drawing, covering it entirely.

  We waited.

  Perhaps a minute passed. The alien reared, resumed its full height.

  Father knelt, pointed to the center circle. “Hope Nation Sun.” His fingers roved. “Planets. Orbits.”

  The outrider did nothing.

  Father sighed. “Edgar, what’s the fish Outside up to?”

  “It’s at rest, waiting for our shot amidships.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Sir, this is insane. You might as well discuss philosophy with a shark.”

  “Any ideas, Randy?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Edgar, have Jess scan the passenger lists. Any linguists?”

  A few seconds pause. “Nothing remotely like, sir. Three journalists and a specialist on puter psychology.”

  “All right, let’s be sure it isn’t hostile. Randy, to the hatch.” Facing the outrider, Father began a slow retreat.

  At the hatch, he keyed the caller. “Boritz, withdraw to section six. We’re coming through.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  I shook my head. The sailor should have demanded permission to stay in five, to protect his Captain.

  The alien remained where it was. Quivering. Always the goddamn quivering. Sweat trickled down my spine.

  “Mr Tolliver, alert Dr Romez. We’ll need Class A decon. Blood samples from both of us, first thing, to check for virus.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “When we’re through, open the inner airlock hatch. Let it go if it wants.”

  “And what if it decides to melt through the outer hatch? We’ll decompress.”

  “Only the one section. It can do that anytime it wants by melting through an outer bulkhead.”

  “I suppose, but … aye aye, sir.”

  “We’ll take a cabin in five for a day or so, just to be sure. If we’re infected, I don’t want to spread it.” Father set the pistol to midrange, handed it to me, turned his back on the alien. He keyed the hatch.

  It slid open.

  We walked through. Behind us, the outrider waited.

  Quivering.

  Decontamination was every bit as unpleasant as before. They ran our blood and breath samples through analyzers. No viruses, but Dr Romez and his staff were exceedingly thorough nonetheless. No one touched us who wasn’t suited, and Lord God knew what they did with the suits afterward.

  I’d peeled off my suit at the first opportunity, ignoring Father’s protest. “I’ll take my chances with you, and there’s no use saying otherwise. Punish me if you must.” I held my breath; for a moment he seemed ready to do just that.

  At length, he sighed. “A father’s job is to protect you.”

  “Not from this.”

  To my amazement, he nodded, as if he understood.

  Freshly showered, in clean clothes, I found myself ravenously hungry. Stewards in suits brought us trays; everyone who met with us had to pass through rigorous decon. In the old days, on Challenger and other ships, viruses introduced by outriders had decimated passengers and crew.

  We sat side by side, on a bunk. “Now what, Mr—um, Father?”

  “You know, P. T. called me that.”

  “Who’s Peetee?”

  “Philip. My son. I was Father. Fath, for short.”

  “Fath. I like that.” It acknowledged the relationship, but wasn’t silly, like “Pop” would be. On the other hand, it didn’t award the parent excessive dignity. Yes, “Fath” had zarks.

  “I liked it too,” he said.

  “Why do you call him Peetee?”

  “Initials. Philip Tyre Seafort. Named after a joey I sailed with, many years ago.”

  “We’ve a town called Tyre.”

  “Your father Derek named it that, to please me.”

  “Did it?”

  “Very much. Philip Tyre was a troubled boy, but in the end he was magnificent. He rammed Challenger’s launch into a fish. His sacrifice saved us.”

  “So, as I asked, now what?”

  “We’ll try again.”

  “Tonight, or in the morning?”

  “Tonight,” he said. “I’ll go alone.”

  “The hell you will.”

  He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, dragged me protesting to the head. In a moment, he had a handful of liquid soap at my mouth. Some of it got in. I struggled, but he was stronger than I’d have guessed. “I won’t have foul language!”

  I spat, over and again. The taste was horrible.

  “Understood?”

  I was too shocked for words. After all we’d been through …

  “You’d best answer.” His tone held warning.

  “I hate you!”

  “That’s your privilege. Acknowledge what I told you.”

  For a long moment I was silent. Rage, hate, Lord knew what else battled for dominance. At last, shaky, I lurched to my feet, spun away. “I agreed to be your son. I won’t go back on it.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “But I wish I could.” My tone was spiteful.

  “Do you really? Tell truth.”

  “Yes!” In a recess of my mind, Dad’s image glowered. My ears began to redden; the Carrs didn’t lie. “No. I don’t want out.”

  “That’s better.”

  “I’ll make you a bargain.”

  “No bargains.”

  “I’m not accustomed …” I gathered myself. “With Anth I got used to freedom. I’ll try, I’ll really do my best, on all the small things you want. Like how I talk. But on whether you go off and risk dying without me, I’m part of the decision. We’re family, right? We face this risk together, or being family is a lie.”

  He put his head in his hands.

  I braced myself. “Sir …” It would be hard. “Fath, I apologize. I won’t use that language again.” My cheeks flamed.

  I waited out eternity.

  “Very well. We’ll rest a bit, before we visit the outrider.”

  I’d won.

  Or, had he?

  Again, I clambered into a vacuum suit; Fath insisted on it and nothing I said would budge him. An extra layer of protection, he called it. He tousled my hair before securing my helmet.

  The outrider was at the far end of the section.

  Abruptly the alien flitted toward us. Fath had just time to thrust me behind him. I raised the pistol, too late.

  It skittered to a stop, inches from Fath, and melted to a near puddle. Dots and colors flowed, in no apparent pattern.

  Avoiding its touch, Fath got down on his knees, then his belly. After a moment, he stood, slapped the bulkhead.

  The alien reconstituted itself.

  “Let’s try math,” said Fath. He held out his hand for my pistol, burned dots into the deck.

  • + • =••

  Nothing.

  ••• + • = ••••

  The alien melted onto the diagrams, reconstituted itself. We waited. It waited too. “Does it understand negation?”

  •• < > •••

  The outrider covered the etching, re-formed itself. No other response.

  I said, “Draw us.”

  “With a pistol? I might manage a stick figure.”

  “Don’t be silly. Drawing is a zark.” I reached for the pistol. Astonished, he let
me take it.

  In the woods, when Anth had taught me to shoot, I’d carved smoking initials, drawings, maps into the boles of sturdy generas. The Stadholder had dropped his adult dignity and joined in.

  I knelt, wishing I didn’t have to work through thick gloves. Carefully, I drew a bulky figure with a big round helmet. I pounded my chest. I drew another figure alongside, as human as I could make it. I worked at nose, ears, legs. When I was done, I stood, put my palm on Fath’s chest.

  The outrider quivered, as if about to launch itself. I’d have a moment of agony, no more. Heart thudding, I braced myself.

  It sagged into an ooze, covered my artwork.

  I whispered, “Why does it do that? Can’t it see?”

  “It must. Else, how would it know we’d finished drawing?”

  “What’s it trying to tell us by rolling on it?”

  “Look out, son!” Fath yanked me to safety. The deck-plate smoked and sizzled. He grabbed the caller at the hatch. “Janks! It’s burning through the deck. Be ready to—”

  The alien reared, resumed its irregular shape. On the deck plate where it had lain, new lines.

  We examined the etching.

  Fath leaned against the bulkhead, closed his eyes. When he looked up, his face was serene. “Wonderful,” he said.

  Dots, swirls, a line here and there. I said doubtfully, “It ought to mean something, but …” I shrugged. Gibberish.

  “It means,” said Fath, “that it’s trying to communicate.”

  Again, Class A decontamination. Almost, it made me want to let Fath visit with the outrider alone. Blood extraction, an embarrassing and thorough nude shower under the watchful eyes of med techs, antiseptic spray, irradiation … That Fath also went through it didn’t help much.

  By unspoken agreement, Fath and I shared our section five cabin for the night. It was his idea, and I reacted with studied nonchalance, but there was no way I could have slept alone with an outrider quivering in the next section.

  Our evening had been a frustrating failure. We’d tried more diagrams, gotten no response. The alien rolled on its etching once more, but I couldn’t see any change. We’d scored several meters of the deck plate, run the pistol’s charge down to the warning beep, with no progress. Abruptly, as my yawns threatened to dislocate my jaw, Fath called a halt, ordered the inner airlock hatch left open in case the alien wanted out.

  Tolliver, suited, came to visit. “I’m willing to take the chance, sir.” His fingers toyed with his helmet clasp.

  “Absolutely not. And what are you doing off the bridge?”