To the console.
No. First, a detour to the corner, to spew forth the contents of my stomach.
Wiping bile, I trudged to the console, tapped in the sequence he’d given me.
A warm contralto filled the room. “Yes, General?” Fine by me, if the puter thought I was Thurman. But my voice would give me away. I tapped, “Alphanumeric input only.”
“SET FOR ALPHANUMERIC.”
“Status, laser cannon safeties?”
“SAFETIES RELEASED.”
I typed, “Engage laser cannon safeties.”
“ENTER SUPERVISORY CODE.”
Holding my breath, I stabbed out Thurman’s numbers.
“SAFETIES ENGAGED. WARNING: LASER DEFENSES CANNOT BE ACTIVATED WITHOUT RELEASE.”
“Do not release except by authorization from this console. Override any instructions to the contrary.”
“INSTRUCTIONS ACKNOWLEDGED.”
Good. “Query: how may comm room be bypassed, for transmissions directly from this console?”
“ENTER DESIRED FREQUENCIES AND BEGIN TRANSMISSION.”
“Do you monitor incoming responses?”
“AFFIRMATIVE. I DEDUCE YOU WISH THEM ROUTED DIRECTLY TO THIS CONSOLE AS WELL.”
“Yes.” My tone was fervent. “I mean … I typed it. “Yes. Use frequency of last transmission from Olympiad.”
In the corner, General Thurman moaned. Abruptly his neck arched. His feet drummed the deck.
I tried not to hear. “Puter, do I begin talking now?”
“AFFIRMATIVE.”
“Olympiad, come in. Mr Tolliver! Someone answer!” It wasn’t very professional, but how should I know the proper drill?
A time passed.
“Mr Tolliver! Olympiad! Where are you?” I jabbed at the keyboard. “Puter, are you transmitting?”
“YOU ARE.”
“UNS Olympiad to Station, go ahead.” An unfamiliar voice.
“I need Mr Tolliver!”
“State your message.”
“You frazzing grode, this is Randy Carr, ship’s boy, and I need Mr Tolliver RIGHT NOW!”
Almost instantly, a new voice. He must have been listening. “This is Tolliver. What do you want?”
“Sir, I’m on their bridge. I mean, the Commandant’s office. They captured Mr Tamarov. I have the Commandant and his authorization codes, and the hatch is sealed. Laser safeties are locked; they can’t fire. Take the Station!”
“How?”
“Bring Olympiad! Board us!”
A silence. “You propose I sail Olympiad within range of your cannon?”
“The safeties are locked.”
“I’ve no way to know that.”
“For Christ’s sake, why would I lie?” Fath would be outraged at my language. Sorry, sir. I’m beside myself.
“Mr Carr, can you prove you’re not a prisoner?”
At the hatch, the scream of blades had stopped. But the room seemed warmer. Cautiously, I touched the hatch, yanked back my hand. It was warm. And if I listened hard, I could hear the hiss of a torch.
“Mr Tolliver, we’ve no time! They’re trying to cut through the hatch! For God’s sake, hurry!”
“Can you put Mr Tamarov on the line?”
“They have him. Or maybe he’s dead.”
“I can’t risk Olympiad. If they hit our tubes, we’re stranded; tubes can’t be repaired outside a shipyard. I assume you’re under duress.”
“But I’m not! Mr Seafort’s in trouble, they’re talking about burning him! They’ve got shuttles here!” My voice was ragged. “I’m begging you!”
“I wish I could believe you. You say you have Thurman with you? Put him on.”
I pounded the console. “I can’t. He’s … I can’t!” If I looked again at the blood seeping from his mouth, I’d go mad. His fingers twitched.
“Then we’re at an impasse.”
A breath of air. An audible hiss. The General’s fingers eased.
My eyes darted from bulkhead to bulkhead. A vent. I dived for my helmet, got it on just as a wave of dizziness caught me. I slumped.
Minutes passed, or hours. Or years. By sheer effort of will, I raised my head.
“Mr Tolliver?” My voice was muffled.
“Yes?”
“They tried gas. I’m in my suit. My tanks are good for an hour.” I fought to slow the whirling room. “Sir, the Station’s yours. I’m not under duress.”
“How can I know?”
I tried not to vomit. “Think about my cell in Olympiad. Nothing in God’s universe would make me do this against my w—wi—will.” I swallowed a lump. I was failing. It would all be for naught.
“Oh, son. How can I trust you?”
I whispered, “Fath would.” It was my last effort. I lay my head on the console.
Eons passed.
“Olympiad to Station, Captain Tolliver speaking. We’re approaching at flank speed, at Battle Stations. Open all outer locks. We demand your surrender on behalf of our allies, the Government of Stadholder Anthony Carr.”
“Randy, are you in there? Open, it’s safe now.”
I raised my hand to the hatch control, hesitated. I knew the voice, but … “Have Mr Tolliver order it.”
Muttered epithets. A few moments passed.
“Mr Carr? Captain Tolliver here. Open, as he asks.”
“Aye aye, sir.” I slapped the control. The hatch slid open. Tad Anselm and I regarded each other. Wearily, I unclamped my helmet, brought myself to attention. “Ship’s Boy Randolph Carr reporting, sir.”
“As you were. Well done, joey.” Anselm peered in, glanced at Thurman. “Lord Almighty, what did you do to him? Medic!”
“Where’s Mik, sir? I mean, Mr Tamarov.”
His mouth tightened. “In sickbay. They were pretty savage. How on earth did you take over the master console?”
I told him, giving Mikhael all the credit. I’d done little but scream into my suit, and torture Mr Thurman.
“The Captain will be proud. I’ll see your exploit is Logged.” He clapped me on the shoulder.
“Pardon.” Lieutenant Frand brushed past, dropped into the console seat with a weary sigh. “Mr Carr, the codes, before you go.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.” Dutifully, I recited them.
Outside the bridge, three of Mr Janks’s detail had taken position in the corridor, fully armed. No Station personnel were to be seen.
“Let’s go.” Anselm herded me to the corridor.
“Where?”
“Back to the ship.”
“They took Mr Seafort groundside.”
“I know. The Captain wants to send a rescue party, but there’s a complication.” He grimaced. “Admiral Kenzig forbids it.”
I stopped dead. “What?”
“Interfering in local politics. Meddling in Church affairs.”
My lip trembled. “Did you see Thurman lying on the deck? Think I did that for myself? It was for Fath! We’ve got to help him!”
“I think as highly of him as you—”
“Goofjuice!” I flung down my helmet.
Anselm’s tone was cold. “You forget yourself, Mr Carr!”
“No, you do!” I kicked my helmet across the corridor, barely missing a sailor striding past. “You told me he saved you! Who are you, Lieutenant?”
“Come along.” Now, his voice was ice. Catching the arm of my suit, he dragged me along the corridor, down a ladder, into a launch bay. He practically threw me into a waiting gig, took a seat alongside. The hatch slid closed.
I folded my arms, gritted my teeth.
Anselm said gruffly, “I’ll speak to him. Captain Tolliver.”
Satan himself couldn’t coax a word from me. I glared at the porthole, watched the Station drift away.
“I was sixteen when I met him. He saved me. From myself.” Tad turned abruptly, spoke to the empty seat alongside. “I’d ruined myself, with drink and sloth and despair. It’s as if he’d adopted me as he did Mikhael; he treated me as a
son. I’m what I am because of … I’d give anything to save him.” A pause. “But Admiral Kenzig is the Navy we agreed to serve. He, and Mr Tolliver, and Mr Seafort. It’s about orders, and loyalty, and faith.”
Bullshit. It’s about Fath.
White lights, as we eased into Olympiad’s bay.
Anselm guided me from the gig. “Come along.”
“Where?” Oops. I’d vowed not to speak.
“To the bridge. And it’s ‘aye aye, sir.’”
I muttered something that might have been what he asked.
Mr Tolliver paced before the giant simulscreen.
“Lieutenant Anselm reporting, sir, with the ship’s boy.” He came to attention.
Still suited, except for my discarded helmet, I made no effort to salute.
“As you were, Tad.”
“Any word, sir?”
“From that ass Palabee. He refuses to tell me Anthony’s status. He had a Churchman by his side, someone named Hambeld.”
I blurted, “Scanlen’s man. He helped hold me at the rectory.”
Tad asked, “What news of the Captain?”
“Nothing. Kenzig’s lodged a protest.”
“With whom?”
“The Archbishop. And Palabee.”
“To what effect?”
“I gather they’re ignoring him.” Tolliver stopped his pacing long enough to glare at us. “I want to send a force groundside. Kenzig refuses absolutely.”
“Excuse me.” My voice was cold.
“Yes?” Tolliver raised an eyebrow.
“General Thurman spoke of burning.”
“Andori—the Archbishop—lodged a charge of heresy for attempting to arrest Bishop Scanlen. That would be the penalty. They’ll try him on the civil charges first.”
“Which are?”
“Crimes against humanity. Primarily, dealing with our friend the outrider.” He gestured wearily toward Level 2. “They want the fish destroyed. Which reminds me.” He took up the caller. “Ms Frand? I need you to go below and try to communicate with the outrider. Tell it to wait in its own ship. Er, in its fish. We’ll open our lock when we’re ready to resume negotiations.”
“Well … that’s a fairly complicated message, sir.”
“I know, Sarah. Do your best.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Tolliver turned back to Anselm, but I’d had enough. “When’s the trial?” My tone was truculent.
“This afternoon, at criminal court. They want it over and done.”
“What will you do?”
His tone was bleak. “What can I do?”
I said, “You have the Station’s cannon, and our own. For a start, blast the Cathedral to rubble.”
“And then all of Centraltown? Would your guardian approve?”
I shouted, “It’s not his decision!”
Anselm whirled me around. “That’s quite enough, Mr Carr!” To the Captain, “He’s been through hell, sir.”
“I know; I’ll make allowances. Randy, when we brought Mr Tamarov aboard he told us your part in this affair. I can’t commend you highly enough. I’ll enter it into the Log.”
I stared at him as if his words were gibberish.
He flushed, turned to Tad. “It seems the latest upheaval was too much for our passengers. More than a few want off.”
“Idiots.”
“That’s as may be. Some are Hope Nation nationals. I’ve pledged to Palabee not to try to slip a Naval force among them. He knows my sworn word is good, besides, we have his Station.
He’s agreed to let us land passengers at Centraltown. We have two shuttles standing by. You’re to supervise the disembarkation.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Mr Carr, get some rest. Again, I commend your work. I’ll call you the moment we hear—”
“I really did well?”
“Yes.”
“Then may I ask a favor?”
“What?”
“Remission of enlistment.” Into the shocked silence, I said, “We both know they’re going to kill … I don’t want to sail with you after—after—” I faltered. “Please.” I looked to the deck
“Are you sure, Randy?” Oddly, Tolliver’s tone was gentle.
“Yes, sir.” I held my breath.
“Nick would want you safe, raised by friends who—”
“Please.” My voice cracked. “For him, for me, for Derek. It’s all I’ll ever ask.”
A long while passed. “Very well, granted. Go with Mr Anselm. Fare thee well.”
“And thee, sir.” At the hatchway I paused. “Tell Mik that I lov—” I couldn’t say it. “Tell him good-bye.”
Midshipman Yost led me past Corrine Sloan’s seat on the second shuttle. I stopped abruptly, still hot and miserable in my spacesuit. “You too?”
“I have to, Randy.” She sounded subdued.
“Why?”
Her eyes glistened. “The heresy charge. I was there for John. I can’t do less for Nick.”
“But you loved John.” Some races of my mind wondered from where I summoned such cruelty.
She started to answer, choked, bowed her head.
Tommy Yost stirred. “Please take your seat.”
I did, nearby. “What about Janey?” She was nowhere in sight.
Corrine’s shoulders shook.
I buckled myself in, forcing myself silent. I’d done enough evil for one life.
No. There’d be more. I unbuckled, made my way to the hatch. “Mr Anselm!”
“Now what?”
“Come with us.”
He looked startled. “It’s against orders.”
“Weren’t you told to disembark the passengers?”
“I’m sure the Captain didn’t mean—”
“You were more adventurous the day you took me to sickbay.” To visit Fath. Mr Seafort, before he became Fath.
“Is there some reason …”
My lip curled. “Don’t you want to see him?”
His glare could have melted the hull. At last, he muttered to Yost, “Tell the bridge we’re ready to cast off.” He sealed the hatch from within.
We began our journey. Solemn, a bit forlorn, I watched Olympiad recede through the porthole. I’d never see her again.
An hour passed, while I fidgeted and sweltered, wondering if I was doing right. Perhaps they’d let Fath off with a warning, or disgrace. Perhaps a few months in jail. Perhaps …
The worst part is the buffeting, as the shuttle fights the outer atmosphere, and its own velocity. By sixty thousand feet, it becomes a calm flight, no more bumpy than a suborbital.
I unbuckled. Quickly I made my way toward the cockpit. As I passed, Anselm looked up in surprise; one didn’t move about on a shuttle in flight.
I knocked on the cockpit hatch.
“What?” The pilot sounded annoyed as he swung it open. I thrust myself inside.
Behind me, Anselm leaped out of his seat.
I reached into my pouch.
Tad stopped short.
As well he ought. My laser pistol lit his midriff. I glanced at the instruments. The altimeter hovered at sixty thousand feet. I said to the pilot, “Tell the puter to fly us.”
“You can’t—”
I fired, dissolving a pressure gauge. “Move!” Fifty-five thousand.
“Puter, autopilot on!”
“Get out.” I beckoned to the hatch.
He scurried past, to the cabin. Tad edged closer. “Where’d you get that?”
“At the Station. No one took it away, after.”
Another casual step.
“Don’t, Mr Anselm. I warn you.”
“You’ll shoot me?”
My eyes met his. “If I must. I swear it.” Forty thousand.
“What are you up to?”
“I’m going to land the shuttle.”
“You can’t fly.”
“I’ll ask the puter to help. We’ll probably crash.”
“Randy, we’ve ninety passengers!” His wa
ve encompassed them all.
“Yes. For them, not for me, I ask your help.” Thirty-three thousand.
“Doing what?”
“Give me your word as an officer—and your oath—that you won’t interfere, or try to take my pistol, or subdue me. That you’ll land as I tell you.”
“If not?”
“I’ll do it myself.”
“Good Christ.” After a long moment. “All right. I so swear.”
“By Lord God.”
“By Lord God.”
“And your solemn word as an officer.”
“Yes!” He looked ready to kill.
Twenty-five thousand. “Get in.” I stood aside as he brushed past, and lowered myself into the copilot’s seat.
“Randy, why?”
“I’m going to rescue Fath.”
“You’re insane!”
“Does it matter?”
After a moment, his lips twitched. “I guess not. Puter, autopilot off.”
“Voicerec failure. Please identify speaker.”
“Lieutenant Thadeus Anselm, U.N.N.S. ID is N-123—”
“Authority denied.”
Fath had told me of his difficulties with puters. I bared my teeth. “Puter, safety check. Where is your CPU box?”
“To the right of the copilot’s yoke, between the fuel gauge and the—”
I set my beam to low, burned the box until it sizzled.
“Jesus Christ son of God!” Tad leaped from his seat.
“Don’t blaspheme.” Odd, how much I sounded like Fath.
After that, Tad didn’t have much to say. Centraltown Control didn’t seem to notice the change in voices, and gave us our usual runway.
At fifteen thousand feet I broke the news. “We’re not landing at Centraltown.”
“Then do it yourself!”
“No, I have your word.” Heart pounding, I leaned back, closed my eyes. For good measure, I laid the laser pistol on the dash.
Almost a minute passed.
“All right, you win.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Where?”
“Churchill Park. At the southeast corner, there’s an open strip. No trees.”
“We’ll crash!”
I said, “Shuttles land VTOL.”
“With the puter’s help. I’m not good enough to—”
“Oh, I have faith. You’re better than you think.” Lord knew why I said it. Perhaps I no longer cared. “And don’t tell Approach Control.”
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