Children of Hope

by David Feintuch

  “Yes, sir.” Jerence shifted awkwardly. “Is this truly goodbye?”

  “We leave tomorrow, if we can get the last passengers aboard. I shouldn’t have allowed them off.”

  “Well, then.” The two faced one another.

  It was Fath who embraced Mr Branstead. “Farewell.”

  “Godspeed, sir. I pray you return soon. If not, I’ll remember you always.”

  “And I you.”

  I went back to my duties.

  That night, as I got ready for bed, Fath sat hunched over his knees, in near darkness.

  “Are you sad, sir?” I had to say something.

  “Yes.” He stared at his feet. “I was so sure.”

  “Of what?”

  “Randy … all those years of regret, of horror at what I accomplished killing so many fish … when they returned to Hope Nation, I thought that God had been testing me. I know my faith wavered, and I failed Him, but somehow, I imagined He’d forgiven me nonetheless. That He had given me a great task, and a greater reward: to make peace between our species. Almost, I was prepared to forgive Him what He did to Arlene, and your father, despicable as it was. But the fish that visited us is gone, and our outrider with it. I have no task. Just my doubts, renewed.”

  “You’re still Captain.” It was all I could think of.

  “And your parent. That will keep me busy.” He tried to lighten his tone.

  “Sometimes …” I sat on the deck, near his feet. “I feel lonely. Like you.”

  “No,” he said. “I pray it’s not like me.”

  I knew better than to answer. I leaned back against his bed.

  We passed a companionable hour, in silence.

  Olympiad wasn’t exactly crowded, but she was bustling.

  Shuttle after shuttle mated with her locks, disengorging distracted and occasionally greengilled passengers. Each craft then broke free and dived into the atmosphere for another run to Centraltown, where Lieutenant Skor was handling embarkation. Alejandro and I were on “gopher” duty, helping the purser’s overworked staff. They sent me hither and about, for sheets, new safety tanks, holovids, and all manner of gear it seemed our passengers simply couldn’t sail without.

  To my delight I spotted three teeners, two boys and a girl, who looked about my age. Perhaps there’d be others.

  Until now, I’d wondered why Olympiad floated free of the Station, instead of mooring, as was the custom. Certainly, passengers could be better organized in the Station’s corridors than ours. But by standing clear, we made three additional locks available, and loading probably went faster in the end.

  At last, the final shuttle mated; Lieutenant Skor came aboard with the last of our passengers.

  I scurried about, until the press of errands slackened. Only then did Purser Li allow me a break.

  Mikhael was on duty at the east Level 3 lock, crisp in a dress uniform and his best manners. With him was the youngest of our middies, Tommy Yost, who’d just returned from shore leave. A purser’s mate was just leaving, his duties at the lock done.

  I peered out the porthole. Though I could feel nothing, we were already under way. Slowly, steadily, the Station receded.

  Mik cleared his throat. “Excited, Mr Carr?”

  “What about?”

  “Your first cruise.”

  “Oh!” I hadn’t even thought about it. Strange, how Olympiad had so quickly become my home. I was still getting used to Fath’s strange ways—for example, his fixation about keeping me in fresh-pressed clothes—but on the other hand, I felt as if I’d known him for years. He was trying hard to be a good father. I suspected I’d have to try equally hard to be a good son.

  Hope Nation, green and serene, floated below. Well, Dad. Could you imagine I’d sail off with Mr Seafort in a sister ship to the one in which you died? Would it please you? Make you sad?

  Mik threw an arm around my shoulder. “It’s all right, joey.”

  “I know, sir.” I wiped an eye.

  “We all feel that way at first.”

  I squirmed with embarrassment; sailors were watching. To divert him I said, “When do we Fuse?”

  “Fusion safety is … tell us, Mr Yost.”

  The younger middy jumped. “Uh, the square of N times the distance to … I’d need a console to calculate … about five hours, sir.”

  “Close enough, and I’m not ‘sir.’ Not while Mr Riev’s aboard.”

  “Sorry, Mr Tamarov.” The younger middy was sweating. Was this the hazing all middies endured? If so, I wondered what the fuss was about.

  “If we Fuse too early, what happens?”

  “The drives are unable to overcome—”

  “I was asking Mr Carr.”

  I gulped. Not fair; Mik was supposed to be my brother. I said, “The ship explodes, or implodes, or something.” I hadn’t listened too closely to that part, back in Physics 3. I’d been contemplating the curve of Judy Winthrop’s back.

  “Even a ship’s boy is expected to know the basics.”

  “Sorry, sir.” My tone was stiff. I’d never speak to him again off-watch. Not a word.

  “Near any significant mass—you can look up the specifics in Lambert and Greeley—a fusion drive can’t produce a strong enough N-wave to overcome the inertia of normal space-time. The drive overheats. The resultant energy is expended on the ship itself. It’s explosion, not implosion. You wouldn’t want to be around when it happens.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come by the wardroom sometime and I’ll show you the passage from Elements of Astronavigation.”

  “Sure.” Not a chance. He could shove Lambert and Greeley—

  “It’s even worse with Augmented Fusion. More energy.” Mik was showing off.

  “Do we use that?”

  “All starships do. We learned from the fish, back when Pa—er, Captain Seafort was young.”

  Half listening, I peered again at the distant, barely discernible Station lights. Would we ever again have an Orbiting Station as big as the one Mr Seafort had nuked? And when would I see home again?

  “All hands, prepare for Fusion.” The Captain sounded melancholy.

  “What’s the response, Thomas?” Mik waited, arms folded.

  “We call the bridge and say, ‘Level 3 east lock sealed and clear.’”

  “Do so.” To me, “Other than the engine room and the locks, there’s not much to prepare. I don’t know why they announce—”

  “Why seal the locks?” I shouldn’t have interrupted, but …

  “To prevent anyone wandering inside. They’d be too close to the edge of the field.”

  “Engine Room, prime.”

  “If you want a last look, better hurry. We’ll be seven months in Fusion.”

  I bent to the porthole. Not that I’d see much, so far from—I reeled away, mouth working. “Mik, there’s a—”

  Alarms shrieked.

  “General Quarters! All hands to General Quarters!” Tolliver’s voice was ragged. It would be, with a fish nosing at our hull.

  “Deprime deprime deprime! Depower the drive!”

  “Engine Room, aye aye. Fusion drive is—”

  “Passengers, to your cabins! Fish off our port bow! Prepare to suit!” The fish lurched, or we did, as someone blasted propellant from our thrusters.

  “Mik—I mean, sir—where do I go?” I hoped he’d say the bridge.

  “Stay with me, Randy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so!” His tone was harsh.

  “Aye aye, sir.” Inwardly, I kicked myself. General Quarters was no time for insubordination.

  “It’ll be all right, Randy.”

  “I know.” Almost, I believed it, though my stomach knotted. Easy, joey. Fath was at the helm, and Mik was close. I glanced out the porthole. Already the distance to the alien was widening. I willed myself calm.

  Tommy Yost’s eyes were glassy. “Is this what they did … before?”

  What a stupid question. No, wait: he’d been sho
reside during our other encounters. I made my tone soothing, and a touch condescending. Middies weren’t so adult after all. “They appeared from nowhere, like this one. But not so close.”

  “It’s throwing! Laser room, fire at will! Closing corridor hatches! All hands, all passengers to suits!”

  I bent to the porthole for a last glance. While we’d bickered, the fish had grown an appendage. It swirled lazily. In a moment, it would break off, sail through our defenses, splatter the hull. Its acid would begin to eat through.

  “You idiot, come on!” Mikhael hauled me toward the suit locker.

  Feverishly, I climbed in. Legs. Torso. Arms, the hard part. Whew. Why couldn’t someone design—

  “Bridge, laser bank three disabled!” Ms Frand must be so distracted, she didn’t realize she was using shipwide circuits.

  “What’s happening?” Yost’s voice was a whine. “Why won’t they tell us—”

  “That’s quite enough, Thomas.” Mik’s tone of command was one I recognized. I suppressed a grin. One couldn’t live long with Fath, without learning his ways. “In fact, altogether more than enough. I’ve a mind to tell Mr Riev.”

  “Oh, don’t!”

  Mikhael clamped his helmet, spun me around to check mine. “If I were first middy you’d be swimming in demerits, joey. We’re all scared. Do you hear Randy carrying on?”

  “No, but …” A deep breath. “Sorry, Mr Tamarov.”

  “That’s better.” A reassuring clap, which nearly knocked Tommy to the deck.

  “Attention, passengers and hands.” The Captain’s voice was heavy. “The fish is gone. When our lasers opened fire, it Fused. We’re in no immediate danger.”

  I let out a breath that fogged my helmet.

  “Olympiad was attacked just before Fusion, when we were most vulnerable. We deprimed. Our concern was that our tubes might be attacked at the moment we Fused One laser turret is inoperative, but is repairable. Unless the fish reappears, in a moment we will reprime and try again to Fuse. As a precaution, do not open your cabin hatches, and remain in your suits.”

  “Christ, why don’t they leave us alone?” Mikhael.

  “Don’t blaspheme,” said Yost, primly.

  Mik rolled his eyes. “I apologize. I meant no disrespect.”

  “I ought to tell Mr Riev. In fact, I think I wi—”

  I snarled, “Leave him alone, you turd! I’ll tell Riev you cried like a joeykid when—”

  “I did not!”

  “SILENCE, BOTH OF YOU! THIS INSTANT!” Mikhael’s face was red. “Mr Carr, you’re on report. No, not a word!” His warning finger was a dagger. I swallowed. “As for ourselves, Mr Yost, I’ll inform the first midshipman of our conduct, including my own intemperate language.”

  Tommy Yost looked sullen.

  “Clamp your helmet.” Mik’s tone was peremptory. “Mr Carr, back to your station.”

  “What station? You told me to stay with—”

  “The lock.” He stalked off.

  I tried to hate him, but failed. I’d had no business interposing myself between midshipmen, and knew it the moment I’d opened my mouth. I sighed. The trick was to know it before I opened my mouth.

  “Engine Room, prime.”

  My heart quickened.

  The corridor was deserted, except for ourselves. No doubt our passengers were still struggling with unfamiliar suit clamps.

  Midshipman Yost trudged along the corridor, his suit finally secured. “Mr Tamarov …” He sounded conciliatory. “I’m sorry if—”

  Alarms wailed.

  “Deprime, deprime! Fish at close quarters!”

  I shouldered Mik aside, squinted through the porthole. The fish loomed so close it seemed to be touching. Angry colors swirled. A blowhole opened. A fine spray shot out. The fish drifted toward our stern. An appendage grew from its side, began to swirl.

  Not our fusion tubes. Please, God. We’d be stranded.

  “Laser room, fire at will!”

  Abruptly, a second fish. I flinched.

  Alarms shrieked, a babble of orders from the bridge. Slowly, ponderously, Olympiad turned from the new menace.

  It was the same fish that had lain off our side for so long; I could have sworn to it. It had the same reddish swirl near its dorsal bulge. The other fish had none. Neither had the other alien I’d seen.

  The second fish was on a collision course with its mate. A hole appeared in its side; our lasers had found a target. It pulsed, but didn’t Fuse. It rammed our attacker amidships.

  I grabbed the caller, stabbed at keys.

  Mik wrestled for the caller. “Get away from that! We’re at General Quar—”

  My voice was shrill. “Bridge! Tell Captain Seafort—it’s Randy, the ship’s boy—tell him that’s our old fish! The second one is helping us!”

  Mik wrenched the caller from my grasp, flicked it off. “How dare you!” He was every inch a Naval officer.

  “Laser room, hold fire!”

  In slow motion, our aft portside thrusters and forward starboard thrusters turned our irreplaceable tubes from the attacker. It brought the fish in full view of our airlock porthole.

  An outrider roiled through the skin of the newcomer. It launched itself.

  Not at us, but at its compatriot.

  It floated across the void, struck the fish’s swirling skin. It clung to the surface, blurred, disappeared within.

  My breath rasped in my helmet. Easy, joey. Don’t hyperventilate. Just because you’re scared out of your wits is no reason to gasp for …

  Our attacker pulsed. Suddenly it vanished.

  The fish with the red swirl remained, uncomfortably near our tubes. I watched for an appendage. None appeared.

  “Ship’s Boy Carr to the bridge.” Fath was terse. “I’ll open hatches as you reach them.”

  “Mik, am I in trouble?”

  “Move, or you will be.” His gloved hands urged me toward the section hatch.

  “Ship’s Boy Carr reporting, sir.” I couldn’t salute through a helmet.

  To my surprise, everyone was suited, even the Captain.

  “How’d you know that was our original fish?”

  “That red spot, sir.” I pointed.

  Fath glanced at Tolliver. “You’re right. He was the first to notice.”

  “How fortunate no one hanged him.” Tolliver’s tone was dry.

  Andrew Ghent’s jaw dropped. It caught Tolliver’s notice; Ghent hurriedly bent to his console.

  “Very well, Mr Carr.” Fath’s tone held approval. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m on report.” It was best to tell him myself.

  “That will wait. About the fish.”

  The alien floated on our screen. An outrider clung to its surface. I blurted, “Where did that come from?”

  “Inside. I suppose you think it’s friendly?”

  If I was wrong, I’d look like an idiot. Worse, I’d endanger our ship. I took a long breath. “Yes, sir.”

  “So do I. Edgar disagrees.”

  “What I said, sir, was that friendly or not, we’d be crazy to trust it after what we just saw.”

  “I stand corrected. Edgar thinks you and I are crazy.”

  Andrew Ghent choked. His face was red from the effort of suppressing nervous laughter.

  “So.” The Captain drummed his console. “What now?”

  I had the sense to know he wasn’t really asking me. I pressed my lips shut.

  Fath keyed the caller. “Laser room, if the outrider launches itself, fire only if it nears our tubes.”

  “Frand here. Sir, once it’s on our hull, we have no angle of fire. If it moves to the tubes …”

  Fath set down the caller, chewed his lip. “Lord, this once I’ll speak to You. Thousands of Your people are at risk. I beseech You: what should I do?”

  I found myself straining to hear a response. I shook myself. Father’s lunacy was contagious. There was no God.

  A long moment passed.

  As if c
onfirming my opinion, Fath grimaced. “Nothing. He doesn’t care, or leaves it up to me.” He lifted himself from his seat. Standing below the huge simulscreen, he folded his arms, stared upward.

  “Fire now, sir. Either we kill it, or it Fuses away. Then we’ve a good chance we can prime and Fuse before—”

  “I know, Edgar.”

  The bridge was silent. A moment passed, which lasted hours.

  “Notify the Station we’ll stay. And prepare to open the section four lock.”

  Once more, passengers were evacuated from sections three and five, to either side of the containment area, as well as section four of Levels 1 and 3, above and below. By Fath’s orders, belongings were left in place, and occupants of the affected cabins herded to the Dining Hall. The galley crew was hard at work, slapping together sandwiches and salads for those displaced.

  To my relief, Fath didn’t send me to help. Who cared about frazzing passengers, when an outrider was coming aboard?

  Fath did make me wait, though, until Mr Janks’s security detail was fully in place. Then, together with Tad Anselm, we walked down to the arena.

  At Fath’s order, the outer hatch slid open. The Pilot moved us closer to the fish.

  Jess copied the view from the bridge to our small screen at the negotiating table.

  The outrider quivered, still attached to the fish. A convulsion, and he was sailing through space. He landed on our hull, not far from the hatch.

  “Is it the same one, Fath?”

  “Hmmm. I imagine so.”

  Five minutes passed. The outrider did nothing. I gnawed at a knuckle. Would a different visitor have the same attitude as his predecessor?

  I’d just begun to think the vacuum had frozen the outrider solid when he skittered into our lock. We cycled. He emerged into the section four corridor.

  Immediately, he raced to our end of the section, melted into a puddle. He reared, melted anew.

  Fath sighed. “I have to go to him. Edgar, are you listening?”

  “Right here, sir.”

  “Stand down from General Quarters. We’re diplomats again.” He got to his feet.

  I stood also.

  “Not this time, son. Watch from here. Tell me if he—”

  “A parent ought to be consistent.” The words just popped out of my mouth, but they were as good a gambit as any.