“I didn’t want to be part of it. Removing you, sir. Besides, Scanlen and that fraz Pandeker march about as if they own the ship. Ms Frand doesn’t lift a finger.”
Fath said nothing; he couldn’t very well criticize Olympiad’s new Captain before a mere middy.
Mik stirred. “Sir, I’d better be going. Good luck, Mr Yost.”
We saw him to the airlock.
Tommy Yost said hesitantly, “Should I report to the Commandant for transport?”
“I’ll arrange it,” said Fath. “There’s a cargo shuttle due shortly. I’m sure they’ll let you hitch a ride down.” He checked his watch. “I’d best get back to the outrider. Randy, take Janey to Corrine, would you? Mr Yost, you’d best stay clear of our visitor. Go with Randy.”
As Janey and I started off, hand in hand, the middy fell in beside me. “Was it scary?”
I blinked. “The fish? Worse.”
“Ms Frand was livid when you told her off.”
“Good.”
Yost said hesitantly, “Mr Carr …”
“Randy. I’m not even ship’s boy now.” With a pang, I realized I missed it.
“I’m sorry, how I spoke to you.”
I searched my memory. Since Yost and I had quarreled, the fate of species had been decided. It didn’t matter a whit, and I told him so.
Janey was ecstatic to see her mother. We headed back. I settled Yost in the corridor, passed through the hatch to the outrider’s section.
“What do you think, shall we take our friend for a tour?” Fath sounded almost jovial.
“We already did.”
“Just a couple of bays, and the remains of the fusion chamber.”
I argued against it, but Fath wasn’t really listening. However, before he could throw terror into the Station techs, the cargo shuttle came to dock. We took the alien instead to section five, at whose lock it would moor.
The speaker crackled. “Captain Seafort, Comm Room. Incoming message.”
Fath set the caller to no-hands, so as not to turn his back on the alien.
“Olympiad to Station. Right Reverend Scanlen will speak to Captain Seafort.”
“I’m here. Go ahead.”
“We’ll be Fusing shortly. Sorry you couldn’t be with us.” The Bishop’s tone was sweet. “But you’re better off among your Satanic allies.”
Disgusted, I stared through the porthole. A fat, stubby shuttle was mating at the bay.
“Does your call have a purpose?” Fath’s tone was acid.
“Never duel in minutiae with the Church, Seafort, we’re past masters at the game. I said I’d leave: I did. I said we’d present your treaty: I will. I’ve kept my sworn word to the letter.” Scanlen sounded gleeful. “McEwan and I will present your cursed treaty to the Assembly. Eventually you, or Branstead, or Dakko, or another of your cohorts, will come chasing after, but far, far too late.”
An alarm chimed. The shuttle was mated.
The outrider quivered.
“In today’s distracted world, first word is all, and we’ll have nearly three years to work our will before you get home. It’s McEwan and I who’ll frame the debate and sculpt the issues for the vids. We’re masters at that too. We’ll cast your treaty in the light it deserves. By the time we’re done, not a soul will give you a moment’s hearing.”
“Why?”
“Seafort, you tweaked the Church over and again, here and on Earth. Did you think our patience infinite? Retribution is nigh.”
“You’d destroy a race for revenge?”
“Forget about trade; your precious fish are dead, or will be. We will war against them with all our Godly might, until Satan is vanquished. And know that the Navy will return, in its glory, to subdue the colonial heretics who overthrow Mother Church. Hope Nation is ours, and will remain so. Or perhaps you think your cause will prevail because it’s just?”
Fath’s eyes were pained. “Is that so unreasonable, Bishop?”
The lock panel flashed green. The inner hatch slid open. Lieutenant Alon Riev sauntered through, duffel over his shoulder. When he saw Fath, he threw a laconic salute, which Fath didn’t bother to return.
Scanlen’s tone was savage. “You forget: we have first word. You’re excommunicate and damned Nicholas Seafort, and will suffer far more pain than I could ever inflict, but I’ll do my bit for Lord God.”
“Bishop—”
The line went dead.
Fath stared at the bulkhead. My fists knotted, I glared at the starship’s distant lights.
Lieutenant Riev cleared his throat. “I’m to take a launch to Olympiad. From the next lock.”
“Very well.” Fath’s tone was indifferent.
Riev eyed the outrider. “Is that their chief?” As Fath was pointedly ignoring him, his question was to me.
I ought to snub him, but in Fath’s presence, I didn’t dare.
You’re fourteen, joey, but when you act ten, you’ll be treated as ten. Yes, sir.
“I think so,” I told Riev, but I realized I hadn’t bothered to inquire. Belatedly, I studied the alien. Was our visitor the big outrider? No way to tell, really. Shapechangers had no defining shape. Their skins all swirled, they all quivered when anxious, and skittered about unexpectedly.
The outrider settled on a deck plate, and wrote.
“I have something for him,” Riev said, reaching into his duffel. “A gift from the people of Centraltown.”
“Ask first.” My tone was urgent. Lord God knew how the alien would react to a surprise. “Fath, Captain Seafort, should he—”
Riev pulled his gift from his duffel. “Actually, it’s from Right Reverend Scanlen. And the deacons of our blessed Church.”
“LIEUTENANT, NO!” Fath.
Riev’s laser was fully charged. The outrider watched, twitching, as Riev aimed.
Fath was caught in mid-corridor, too far to lunge at the pistol. Belatedly, I came alive. Both arms, prosth and real, clawed at Riev’s wrist. His left hand thumped into my chest, holding me at bay.
“Why, Alon?” Fath’s voice was agonized.
“He’s Satan’s spawn! Your treaty won’t survive a death. And you don’t deserve to win!”
I struggled to throttle him. No use; Riev’s arms were longer than mine, his strength far greater.
“Call off your midget, before I kill him.”
“Randy, back!” Fath’s tone brooked no refusal.
The laser light shone steadily on my nose. Cursing nonstop, I gave up the unequal struggle.
“Why not kill me too?” Fath had edged closer.
“I ought to, you self-serving hack! This demon’s death—” His laser flicked to the outrider, and back. “—will earn me a medal. For your death, they’d hang me. You’re not worth it.”
“Leave him be. I’ll do anything in my power to—” Another step.
“Thank the Lord, you have no power.” Riev’s first shot splattered the alien against the bulkhead.
Fath lunged; Riev clubbed him to the deck. Coolly, he aimed continuous fire at the outrider, until nothing was left but a sizzling blob. “As your whore did to High Bishop Andori.” His tone was vitriolic. “Back away, joey!”
I did.
Riev snatched up his duffel, raced down the corridor to the adjoining airlock.
“Fath, are you—”
He shoved me aside. “That fool!” He leaped for the caller. “Station alert! Close hatches! Don’t let Riev—”
Too late. Lieutenant Riev had already dived through.
Alarms wailed. Footsteps thudded. Fath wiped a trickle of blood from his forehead. He looked stricken.
“Station, launch N109 departing Bay 3.”
I gabbled, “Have a seat, sir. Away from that acid. In fact, let’s get out of this corridor. You’ll be all right once—”
“Departure Control to Launch, negative, do NOT depart—”
“I’m all right now! God, Randy, how could I have been so blind!”
“You?” I gaped.
“Commen
cing breakaway.” Riev’s voice was cool.
“To let him anywhere near …”
I said, “How could you know he’d—”
“He was the Bishop’s man, even helped them cow Kenzig. Never missed a religious service on ship. Nagged the middies about their souls; I put a stop to it on the trip out. Now he waltzes into the alien’s corridor and I do nothing. Seafort, you idiot!”
“Fath, the Station lasers! Tell Kaminski, he’ll shoot him before he escapes!”
“Riev’s on a launch, not a shuttle. He’s making for Olympiad.” Of course. Launches weren’t atmospheric vehicles. And the only other ships about were fish.
Wearily, rubbing his scalp, Fath strode to the caller, paged the Colonel. “Mr Kaminski, declare an emergency. Send a decon team to section …” He squinted. “… five. The corridor needs full treatment; we need hosedown and showers. Keep radar watch on the launch; if it doubles back, arrest Riev. Connect me to Olympiad.”
A series of clicks. “Comm Room, I need Ms Frand, flank.” Fath clenched and unclenched a fist.
I stared at the gruesome remains. All for naught. My devious machinations, the fears I’d overcome, Fath’s fury. It would all swirl down the drain of war. Riev had capped the Bishop’s machinations with outright atrocity.
The caller clicked.
“Sarah?”
“I’m CAPTAIN Frand.” Her tone was disapproving.
Fath stared at the caller as if it had bitten his hand. He shook himself. “Riev is about to dock. He met the alien observer, pulled a laser pistol, and killed him. Consider him armed and dangerous.”
Ms Frand’s tone was cool. “What do you propose I do?”
“Arrest him!”
“On what charge?”
Fath spluttered. “Are you daft? He killed the outrider!”
“Yes, quite. Last I reviewed Naval regs, it was no crime to destroy the enemy.”
“Ms Frand, for God’s sake!”
“Precisely.”
Stunned silence.
“He clubbed me. Does that count?”
“I’ll look into it, Mr Seafort. “The line went dead.
I stared at the deck. Amid the smoking mess, the alien’s last etching. SALT HUMAN HERE?
Yeah. The salt of the earth.
The corridor hatch slid open. Suited Station hands clumped toward the smoking remains, spray gear in hand.
A stocky joey approached. “Captain?” His voice was muffled through his helmet.
“Colonel, I …” After a moment, Fath shook his head.
“Yes, a disaster.” Kaminski’s tone held sympathy.
Fath demanded, “What’s come over Sarah?”
“Scanlen’s gone aboard. And there’s that Pandeker joey.” Their eyes met. “She’s putty in their hands.”
“Not until this moment,” Fath said heavily, “did I think I could disapprove of devotion to the Church.”
Kaminski cleared his throat. “That’s as may be, sir. I’ve taken the Station to full alert. What next?”
“Oh, God. What next.” It was statement, not question. “Put my son through Class A decon.”
“And you?”
Fath peered into a suit locker. “I’ll need that thrustersuit.”
“Why?” Kaminski and I spoke as one.
“I have a … journey to …” He left it at that. “Colonel—” He clapped my shoulder. “—I know this joey well. He’ll try … I hold you responsible. He’s not to follow me. Keep him on Station, if you have to lock him in a cabin.”
“Fath!”
“If things go wrong, tell Jerence Branstead I knew what I was doing. And get Randy to Olympiad. Mik will take care …”
No. Not this.
Fath worked his way into the suit.
Behind us, crewmen hosed the deck.
Fath offered me an apologetic shrug. “Someone has to … tell them. Avert war, however it may be done.”
Kaminski said vehemently, “Don’t sacrifice yourself!”
“That’s not my intention.”
“Liar.” My lips formed the word, but I didn’t say it aloud.
“Son, do we have a word for ‘sorry’?” He checked his clamps.
“No, sir.”
“For ‘reparation,’ or …” He gave it up. “I’ll play with ‘die’ and ‘equals.’”
“Let me help; I know all the symbols and how they—”
“Not this time.” Helmet under his arm, he leaned forward, planted a kiss on my forehead. “Fare thee well.”
“You can’t go, I won’t—”
Suited hands closed around my arms, tugged me inexorably toward the decon station.
“Wait, I have to see …”
Fath plodded to an empty lock. “Kaminski, I entreat you. Don’t fire on them. Not unless …” His eyes were grim. “Only to save your lives.”
“I’ll try, sir.”
Captain Seafort trudged into the airlock. In a moment, it began to cycle.
Kaminski’s thugs dragged me toward decon.
The panel blinked red. The outer hatch opened.
I kicked out, caught my guard in the shin, broke free. I dashed to the nearest porthole. “No, please let me look! Give me a second more—” I clawed, bit, twisted this way and that. “I’m begging—”
“Let him watch.” Kaminski’s voice was soft.
I pressed my nose to the transplex.
Fath emerged from the lock, into the unforgiving vacuum.
“You don’t have to go, there’s still time—”
He kicked off. As soon as he was clear he squirted his thrusters, headed straight for our host fish.
“I know the pictographs, I wrote half of them—”
With graceful skill he brought himself to a standstill a meter or so from the fish’s swirling skin.
“You leave me and find me, leave me and—”
An outrider emerged from the fish. It enveloped my father, all but his feet, took him inside the fish.
I stiffened. “The suit! It had only one air tank!”
They dragged me toward decon.
“Come along, son.” Kaminski’s voice was soft. “That’s all he’ll need.”
Decon. Stinging chemical showers, blood draws, needles.
Fresh clothes that didn’t reek.
Hot chocolate in a steaming mug, untouched.
Murmurs. Solicitous voices urging me to rest.
A cabin.
I curled in my bunk, slipped a Bible chip into my holovid. Twelve verses, Fath had given me, and I’d never complied. I’d show him. I’d learn thirty.
An hour or more had passed, and I could no longer bear the solitude. I burst out of my hatch. In minutes, I was settled at a corridor porthole. Outside, the fish floated silently.
A few hundred meters beyond, there drifted scores more aliens. Some three hundred of them.
“Randy?” Corrine Sloan, her voice soft.
I looked up, said nothing.
“None of us can stop him.” She knelt, her eyes glistening. “God help us, we’ve tried. Tolliver, you, me, Arlene, Derek … there, rest your head. Let it out.”
No, that would be too easy. With a struggle, I mastered myself. For Fath’s sake, I spoke with care. “Ma’am, if you don’t mind, I’d rather be alone.”
By the time I realized my cruelty, she was gone.
I sat brooding.
A flurry of activity. Outriders emerged, launched themselves at their compatriots. A dozen or so of the fish pulsed, blinked out. The others began a slow, ominous drift toward the Station.
I braced for Colonel Kaminski’s call to General Quarters, but it never came.
After a time, the corridor lights darkened to nominal night.
Massaging the ache in my neck, I trudged, unheeding, through corridors and passageways, up and down ladders.
The huge holoscreen in the Station’s comm room had a view of the fish. Unbidden, I watched from the hatchway.
A steady voice, so steady it had to be a
puter loop. “Mr Seafort, please respond to Station. Mr Seafort, please respond to—”
After a time my calves knotted. I sat.
Eons passed.
“Here he comes!”
I bolted upright.
“Colonel, Comm Room, watch your screen!”
In the holoscreen, the fish floated alongside as before. A membrane was open in its side. Through it emerged a suit.
Thank Heaven.
“Focus tight.”
The view lurched, zoomed in.
I made a ghastly sound.
The suit was empty.
“Where’s Fath?” I grabbed the nearest tech. “WHERE?”
“Still inside.”
I recoiled. “They digested him?”
No answer.
I ran, Lord God knew where. After a time I found myself belowdecks near the machine shop, pounding a bulkhead.
Joey, this won’t do.
I trudged back to the comm room.
Morning found me curled in a console chair. If some hushed voice had murmured into the caller seeking permission for my vigil, I’d paid no heed.
“Breakfast, joey.” Hot cereal, in a tray.
“Thanks.” My voice was rusty. I tried again. “Thank you.”
The fish drifted in space, surrounded by its fellows. On another screen, Olympiad floated unmolested.
I asked, “How many hours?”
“Thirteen.”
Far too long.
“Mr Carr?”
I peered up. Colonel Kaminski, unshaven. I met his gaze.
“Let me take you to your cabin.”
I gripped the chair, as if they’d try to haul me out of it. “No.”
“Son, I know you’re—”
“I won’t let you call me that.”
He hesitated. “Look, joey, you need sleep. I promise we’ll call if—”
“Colonel, incoming traffic. The Manse.”
Kaminski frowned at the interruption. “Very well, I’ll take it here.” He listened. “Ah, Stadholder Bran—all right, then. Jerence. No, he’s …” A glance my way. “… visiting the fish. Not yet. We still hope—yes, right here.” A pause. “I could ask, but the SecGen’s last—his instructions were to put him on Olympiad.” He covered the caller. “Would you care to go groundside, wait with Mr Branstead? He says—”
“No.” Wait, Fath wouldn’t care for that. “I meant ‘No, sir.’ And thank him, please.”
I would do for myself what Fath had demanded. Too bad he wouldn’t be here to—
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