Children of Hope

by David Feintuch

  Adults. Or was it Captains?

  Alejandro and I spent the morning stowing hand luggage, running back to cabins to retrieve forgotten belongings, and, in one case, helping a drunken hydronocist’s mate to his crew berth. Alec thought it funnier than I, but eventually his good mood prevailed. Were it not for the fact that Fath was chatting with an alien one Level above, I’d have actually enjoyed it.

  When the last of the day’s passengers had boarded, I raced up to the Level 2 “arena.” Lieutenant Frand caught me, made me walk all the way back to the lock and try again, more slowly. I didn’t dare cheat; I knew if she told the Captain, I’d be in real trouble. About official duties, Fath lacked a sense of humor.

  To my frustration, I caught him just leaving, on the way to lunch. The alien seemed lethargic, or perhaps just tired. Even its quivering was slowed.

  Fath seemed glad to see me. I found myself chattering about my day, asking him about his. Before long we’d reached the officers’ mess, and no one told me to take my meal belowdecks with the rest of the crew.

  Perhaps it was that I’d made special effort to please Fath with my table manners, or perhaps he was lonely. Whatever the cause, he allowed me to rejoin the negotiations. First, though, I was dispatched to find Mr Dakko, who had an urgent call from Dr Zayre, and wasn’t answering a page. I found him at last, slumped on a recliner in a lounge. I told him of his call.

  “How,” he asked, “goes your discourse with inhumanity?”

  Almost, I sniffed his breath for liquor, but I knew none was to be had aboard ship except in Fath’s cabin. “Fine, sir. We’re making progress.”

  “Are you pleased?”

  “I suppose.” The very question made me uneasy. I owed loyalty to Kevin. But our outrider wasn’t the one who …

  “Under fire, they fly apart,” Mr Dakko said dreamily. “How I’d love to see that.”

  I knew I ought to keep my mouth shut. It wasn’t my role to reprove him, or guide him, or offer solace. Yet … “Sir, if we make peace, no one else will be killed.”

  “Tell that to Kev.”

  “I wish I could.” Abruptly my eyes stung.

  “Ah, what we all wish. You know my wish? That I could say good-bye.” His voice caught. “That’s the worst of it, I never told him good-bye.” A silence. “Go to your pet.”

  A long trudge back to section four, where Fath and Andrew Ghent were on duty. I peered through the transplex shield. “What have I missed?”

  “A word or two. He seems to have lost interest.”

  “What’s that?” I tried to put Mr Dakko’s misery behind me.

  “Another offering.”

  “What’s in it?”

  Fath took up a sheet. “Mild acids, complex and simple. Potassium sulphate. Magnesium chlorate. The list goes on.”

  “Why does he give it to us?”

  “If I knew that, son …”

  “Is it a gift, or does he want it back?”

  Fath blinked. “Good question.” He keyed his caller. “Chief McAndrews!”

  The outrider perched near the bulkhead. Its dots and swirls barely moved.

  Minutes later, a volunteer opened the section five hatch, slid in the original offering we’d taken for analysis, bolted to safety.

  On our newly installed screen, via holocam, we watched the alien absorb the compounds. He skittered back to us.

  Again, he extruded his offering.

  Fath said, “Well? Should we take it?”

  “He seems to want us to, sir.” Ghent.

  I reached past Fath, peered at the analysis. “Are these dangerous?”

  “Not unduly.”

  “Do we have chemicals like these aboard?”

  “I’d imagine so.” His mind was elsewhere.

  “Could we make more?”

  “Why?”

  “Sir, what if he’s asking to be fed?”

  He swung slowly to face me, raised an eyebrow. “I never thought of that.” He took up the caller.

  Three hours later, a sailor deposited a ceramic tray of the alien’s offering on the section four deck. The outrider rolled to it, distinctly slower than before. Tentatively, it grew a tentacle, touched the mixture. An instant after, he … well, merged with it. Threw himself over it. Absorbed it, the way I’d absorbed a liter of water after hours tossing a ball on a hot day.

  When he skittered back to us, he had his old speed. His dots and blobs swirled with vigor. Despite myself, I grinned.

  Fath said mildly, “You remember how to stand at attention?”

  “Yes, sir.” What had I done wrong?

  “Do so.”

  I stiffened, the way I’d been taught. Two middies and four of Janks’s detail were watching, so I did my best.

  “Mr Carr, on three occasions you’ve offered suggestions regarding the outrider that have proven valuable and insightful. As a consequence, I’m assigning you to the alien detail until further notice. I commend you highly, and will so note in the Log.”

  I swelled, produced a tremulous smile.

  “As you were.”

  I let my shoulders sag.

  “Now, you’re off duty.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fath rested gentle hands on my shoulders. “Well done, son.”

  18

  CREWMEN SHOWERED US WITH all sorts of suggestions as to how to communicate with the alien. Some were patently ridiculous: draw a diagram of the hydrogen atom: one nucleus, one electron, and progress through physics from that starting point. That was Ms Frand’s idea, which Fath didn’t debunk openly. But as I told him privately, if you showed me a hydrogen atom, would I have much to say about it? For that matter, would Fath?

  He decided we needed to establish units of time. I pondered how that might be done, came up with nothing. The outrider seemed to accept that some of our efforts would be fruitless, and seemed untroubled by them.

  We took a break. Mikhael corralled me, with Tad’s consent, and took me up to the wardroom. He introduced me to the six other middies who’d come aboard from long-leave, including Alon Riev, who’d become first midshipman upon Anselm’s promotion. No doubt because I was Mik’s brother—and the Captain’s new son—they were more polite than they would have been, though Riev’s manner was distant.

  Mik seemed a bit disappointed that I maintained a cool reserve. But all these joeys were at least two years older than I, and I wasn’t interested in making a fool of myself. Mr Riev, for one, seemed glad to see me go.

  Back to work.

  By now, even Mr Tolliver had become involved. From time to time, he studied the outrider thoughtfully, arms folded. His acid remarks eased. Of course, they didn’t disappear entirely; that would be too unlike him.

  We reached agreement on symbols for Fuse, food, and injured (broken-not-dead). We applied this last to ships and fish. Then Fath drew examples of touching: outrider-touch-fish, fish-touch-ship, human-touch-human, all alongside a new triangular symbol for touch.

  Once we’d cemented these concepts, Fath had Jess draw symbols showing outrider-touch-human; human-dead. Fish-touch-ship; ship-dead. The alien responded with the symbol for “yes.”

  We’d reached the crux of the issue. Neither side seemed sure how to proceed past this point. Fath, Tolliver, and Dr Romez conferred at length.

  Someone shook me awake. Fath. I peered up sleepily. “Sorry. I was resting my eyes.”

  “Dinnertime.”

  I stretched. “Clean clothes?”

  “What do you think?”

  I sighed. “Yessir.”

  Fath sent me walking ahead, spoke quietly to Tolliver. Nonetheless, his voice was louder than he thought; I got most of the conversation.

  “… time he took Kevin’s body groundside.”

  “He may not want to leave.”

  “Don’t force him off; he’s an old shipmate. But persuade him.”

  “What’s the urgency?”

  “Randy spoke to him and came back upset.”

  “What did Dakko say
?”

  “I have no idea.”

  With even more passengers gone than before, dinner was a quiet and somber affair. Fath would be on watch until midnight; he sent me off to our cabin to read aloud two chapters of any book in the Old Testament. I wasn’t required to memorize them.

  I hated it when he did that. In his absence it would be so easy to cheat. It was utterly unfair of Fath to depend on my sense of honor to stop me. How could I exercise a joeykid’s natural right to evade parental supervision, if constrained by a call to integrity?

  I chose Genesis, read two chapters, and a third for spite. Then I undressed for bed. Janey, tonight, was with her mother. I turned out the light, thought about Anth and Dad. Then, Alex Hopewell and Kevin, at the pond. Judy Winthrop, diving into the still water. I was plagued with unsettling images of Judy and our brief tryst at Carr Plantation. I tossed and turned, until I relieved my unease the only way open to me.

  When Fath came to bed I woke, though I pretended sleep for his sake. Soon the pretense was real. It must have been two hours after that the caller softly buzzed.

  Instantly, no doubt from long practice, Fath keyed it quiet. “Yes? Very well, put him on.” A pause. “Jerence. I trust you know the hour?”

  I lay listening. I’d promised Fath never to eavesdrop—and had stood in the corner for hours to make myself agree to it—but this was different. I was in my own bed, where he wanted me; it wasn’t my fault he spoke too loudly to ignore.

  “He what?” Fath sat upright, switched on the bed light. I watched through half-opened eyelids. “When? Anyone hurt?” A sigh. “Jerence, this is serious. What do you suggest?”

  I licked my lips.

  “Of course I want to help; he’s Derek’s grandson and I’ll do anything I can. But Admiral Kenzig is breathing down my neck. When I snatched Randy from Scanlen’s clutches he threw a fit. My orders now are explicit: stay out of local politics, period. And if Andori’s involved …” He listened. “Anyone know where he went? Have you tried the Cathedral? It’s his home base.”

  A long silence, while Fath listened.

  “Jer, take care. Remember the holo of Randy’s hanging: these joeys don’t play for zarks. Yes, I know. Anthony is formidable, in his own way. Keep me posted. I’ll call the Admiral in the morning, see what he’ll let us do.” Another pause. “And to you too, old friend.”

  The light winked out.

  I lay awake half the night.

  When I woke, groaning and stretching, Fath was up and gone. How did he do it? He was an old man; he even had gray hairs.

  I washed and dressed, even took an extra minute to brush and comb. I tried the bridge but he wasn’t there; I trotted down to Level 2, but he wasn’t at the table.

  The ship was far too large to search; disconsolate, I ran back up to the wardroom, knocked at the hatch. Mik wasn’t there; Mr Riev told me rather crossly that he might be in the exercise room on Two.

  He was, working through a series of exercises. When he finished a set of push-ups I asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Working off a demerit.”

  “Who gave it to you?”

  “Pa.”

  “What for?”

  “For asking too many questions.” With a glance at his watch, he began vigorous jumping jacks.

  “C’mon.”

  “I was late to watch.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “Belowdecks, with Corrine and Janey, I think.”

  Ms Sloan’s cabin was on Five. The ladders were faster than the lift. On Five, I’d reached section two when—

  “Mr Carr!”

  I skidded to a stop.

  Ms Frand’s face was stern. “I believe we’ve spoken about running?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I was wary.

  “Apparently without effect.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s a regulation, you know.” She studied me. “But perhaps we’ll waive it. The corridor is circular, is it not?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “If you run that way, east, eventually you’ll return to your starting point.”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  “What? You want me to—”

  “As fast as you can. Move!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” I took off.

  “Stop! What did you say?”

  “I said—I mean, aye aye, ma’am!”

  “Hurry, now. I expect you back in forty seconds.”

  I raced down the curving corridor. Luckily, few crewmen were about, and no passengers. Section five. Six. I’d forgotten to check my starting time, and had no idea whether I’d meet her goal. Seven.

  At last, ten. Then one, and two. Lieutenant Frand stood tapping the deck restlessly. “What kept you?”

  “I ran as fast as—”

  “You’ll have to do better. Try the other way.”

  I gaped.

  “MOVE!”

  I dashed toward the corridor bend.

  When I completed the circle, panting, she didn’t look at all pleased. “Lazy, that’s what I call it. Run to seven, tag the hatch control, run back. Get the lead out, or …”

  “Aye aye, ma’am!”

  When I got back, her arms were folded. “Barely adequate. Perhaps you need practice. Should we waive the regs on running?”

  “No, ma’am,” I gasped. “I’ll walk.”

  “See to it, joey.” She strode off.

  The hatch to 575 was open. I peered in. The Captain sat on Corrine’s bunk, Janey on his lap.

  “. … years ago. I doubt he’d remember—”

  “Nick, it was personal. If John were the devil incarnate, Scanlen couldn’t have hated him more. All I’m saying—”

  “Hi, Ran’!” Janey jumped off her father, ran to me. Corrine watched with guarded approval.

  “Hallo, what’s this?” Fath loomed over me. “Look at you! Your shirt’s damp and sweaty. Go wash and change.”

  “I’m sorry, Fath, I—”

  “We’ll have a chat tonight about grooming. In the meantime, a dozen verses, memorized. Try 2 Corinthians.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Right now, Randy.” I trudged dejectedly back to our cabin. What a day. And I hadn’t even had breakfast.

  My hated chore completed, the Bible lay open between us.

  “And that’s when Ms Frand caught me running.”

  Fath heard me out in silence, but there was a glint in his eyes that might have been humor. “Terrible,” he said. “What will we do with you?” He got to his feet. “I think I know the problem.”

  “What, sir?” I sounded apprehensive, because I was.

  “Come here.” With a glint of humor, he embraced me. And then we went to lunch.

  “Seventeen new words,” said Mr Tolliver, biting into a hot, juicy soybeef on rye. “I must admit, that’s progress. In just a generation or two, we’ll be able to carry on a chat. In fact—”

  “Why, Edgar!” Fath was in good spirits. “You, cynical? I never thought I’d live to see—”

  Andrew Ghent tore into officers’ mess, his face flushed. “Sir—Captain—Midshipman Ghent reporting—”

  It wasn’t fair that he could run and I couldn’t. I’d have to speak to Fath about it.

  “—Ms Frand says the outrider is agitated and you should come quick, her compliments I mean, and if you please—”

  “Steady, Mr Ghent.” Fath threw down his napkin. “Randy, care to come along?”

  Did I care to breathe? Did a Bishop read the Bible? Did—

  I scurried after him. We’d barely reached the hatch when the alarms shrieked. “General Quarters! All hands to General Quarters!” The voice, taut with tension, sounded like Tad Anselm.

  “Where to, Fath?”

  By answer, he grabbed the hatchway caller. “Seafort to Bridge.”

  “Lieutenant Anselm reporting. The outrider’s gone to section four airlock. If he burns through the outer hatch, the section will decompress.”

 
; “The inner hatch was left open?”

  “As per your orders, yes, sir.”

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “Scuttling in and out of the lock.”

  “When he’s inside, cycle.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Pipe ‘Pilot to the Bridge.’ I’ll be along.” He strode along the corridor.

  “Is he mad at us? What were the seventeen words?” I trotted to keep up.

  “Pilot Van Peer to the bridge, flank.”

  “I don’t know, son.” We strode through another section. “You’ve been a great help, so I’ll allow you on the bridge. But we’re on duty now, both of us.” It was a warning.

  “Yes, sir.” No other response would do.

  A middy I’d met yesterday shared Lieutenant Anselm’s watch. Uniform crisp, hair neatly brushed, he jumped to his feet when he spotted the Captain.

  “As you were, Mr Braun. Tad, is he Outside?” The Captain took his seat. I found an empty place, in the training row behind.

  “I can’t cycle, he won’t hold still enough.”

  “Visuals.”

  “There, can you see him? Half inside the lock?”

  “What set him off?”

  “I’ve no idea, sir.”

  “Laser room, stand by to fire. Safeties removed!”

  “Frand here. Aye aye, sir.”

  “Comm Room to Bridge. Incoming call from the Stadholder. He says it’s urgent.”

  “Pilot Van Peer reporting for duty.” The Pilot, lanky, graying, was breathing hard.

  “Take your seat. Move us within twenty meters of the fish. Our guest wants to go home.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Grasping the thruster levers, Van Peer licked his lips. “This’ll be a first.”

  “No idle chat, gentlemen.” The Captain paced before the simulscreen. “Mr Anselm, watch the inner hatch. Be ready.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Comm Room, put Mr Carr through.”

  “Visuals?”

  “No. Take care, Pilot. Don’t hit her. Ms Frand!”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Your primary target is the fish. Don’t fire unless she makes for our fusion tubes, or winds up to throw an appendage.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Captain Seafort?” Anthony.

  “Mr Van Peer, slow your approach. We don’t want to scare her off. Yes, Stadholder? It’s rather a busy moment.”