Children of Hope (22 page)

Applause. Automatically, I clapped along.

“—takes very seriously his duties of government. No doubt Lord God is well served by the selection of such an outstanding joey as Stadholder. I’m sure our Church officials are as delighted as the populace. And I’m heartened to see that my declaration of freedom for Hope Nation, all those years ago—”

The courthouse dissolved in tumult. It was minutes before the din eased. I tried to take it all in. Why had he gone to such lengths to endorse Anthony, especially after his Admiral had warned him about involvement in our affairs?

“—resulted in honest, God-fearing government, and such obvious prosperity and growth. I wish you my best.”

Again, an ovation.

“I’m no speechmaker, but as long as time permits, I’ll be happy to take questions.”

I nudged Ms Skor. “What is he doing?”

“Shush.”

Patiently, the Captain fielded a flood of questions. What about
Galactic?
A tragedy; he described her loss, in chilling detail. Earths failed coup? He had harsh words for those in his cherished Navy who’d lost their sense of duty.

Was Terran government stable?

Certainly.

“Can the Navy be trusted?”

Mr Seafort frowned. “A few officers acted unwisely. They were dealt with.”

What about the defense of the colonies?

Against what?

“The fish, for one.”

His tone was somber. “Thanks to my … genocide, there are no fish.”

“You were duty bound to protect us, sir.”

“At the cost of a species?”

“Better theirs than ours.” Murmurs of approval from all around.

“So I thought at the time.” His expression bleak, he chose another raised hand.

Would Earth’s enviro revolution succeed? That last was of great concern to us, I knew, as our grain exports were the lifeblood of our economy. He took each question seriously, gave no glib answers, probed for truth.

In the process, Mr Seafort twice more mentioned Anthony, each time approvingly, while the silently whirring holocam took it all in.

“Ms Skor, what made him do this?”

“Did you ask him?”

“No, ma’am.” Oops. I’d been determined, once, not to show her courtesy. No matter; Mr Seafort seemed determined to put our unpleasantness behind us.

I studied her, taking my courage in my hands. “Are you glad he pardoned me?”

“No one wants a joeykid’s death.”

I wasn’t sure that was an answer.

Onstage, Mr Seafort seemed to be enjoying himself, though I noticed after a time his hand remained firmly in place on the lectern. My smile faded. If he swayed, I’d leap onto the bench as fast as …

Jerence Branstead rose, applauding. “Thank you all for coming,” he said. “Would you join me in most heartfelt gratitude to the man who …”

The whole hall rose as one.

Mr Branstead helped him off the bench. The Captain, clearly tiring, waded through a sea of outstretched hands, shaking as many as he could.

I stood uncertainly. Mr Seafort beckoned.

Fingers gripped my shoulder.

I looked up.

Bishop Scanlen. “I believe you’re in our charge, young Mr Carr.” His voice was genial, his eyes cold.

Mr Seafort stopped short, made his way past well-wishers. “Randy, outside.”

“I’m afraid, Mr SecGen, you can’t take him—”

“We’ll talk in the anteroom, sir. It’s too noisy here.” The Captain grasped my hand, pulled me along. Helplessly, I looked back at the Bishop. If he held Mr Seafort’s stubbornness against me, my introduction to the farm would be harsh indeed.

In a moment we were within sight of the elevators, toward which the crowd was streaming. Mr Branstead said, “The conference rooms, sir. This way.” He led us to a side passage. Lieutenant Skor followed.

The door shut behind us, creating an oasis of calm. Bishop Scanlen seemed annoyed, but produced a smile. “Mr SecGen, we met some years ago, after the Trannie Rebellion. I was on the blue-ribbon panel considering means of reconciliation.”

Mr Seafort made a noncommittal sound.

Scanlen said, “Thank you for bringing Randy groundside. It saves a certain—”

“Have you business with him?”

“Judge Hycliff of Hope Nation Family Court declared him a wayward youth. Custody is in the Church. Come here, boy.” The Bishop collared me with an iron grip.

“Why’d you seek such an arrangement, sir?” Mr Seafort was polite.

Perhaps sensing he’d won, the Bishop could afford to be magnanimous. “I’ll admit, Captain, that face had a lot to do with it. Personally, I don’t care about the words. I was a boy before I was a Bishop, and certainly I’ve heard ‘fuck’ before.” An extra squeeze as he said it; his fingernails dug hard.

“For that reason, you …?”

“Credit me with
some
sense. The role of the Church is at stake. Mr SecGen, would you allow Lord God to be cursed in your presence?”

“Certainly not.”

“I am His vicar in Hope Nation, appointed by the Patriarchs of holy Mother Church. Profanity to the Bishop is to Lord God Himself.” Into the silence he added, “Really, it’s in the lad’s best interest. He’s run amuck; look what he did to you. The Stadholder’s been unable to control—”

“That doesn’t concern me, sir. Randy’s going aloft.”

“Admiral Kenzig ordered you to cooperate; he told me so himself. What game is this?”

“No game,” said Mr Seafort. “If you make application to the proper authorities, no doubt the matter will be resolved.”

Scanlen sounded smug. “It
is
resolved, by the courts.”

“I meant the authorities in home system. By Hope Nation’s treaty of independence, U.N. citizens aren’t subject to local courts. Come, Randy.”

I tried and failed to break free of the Bishop’s clutch.

Scanlen snorted. “Nonsense. This boy’s a Hope Nation national, born not fifty miles from—”

“Oh!” Seafort snapped his fingers. “I see the confusion. Anyone have a pocket holovid?”

Mr Branstead fished out his, with its tiny holoscreen.

The Captain pressed in a chip. “
Olympiad
is so much larger than the typical ship of the line.” His tone was apologetic. “Even our Ship’s Boy Alejandro is overworked. Inconsiderate joeys call on him day and night.” To me, a scowl. “I’ve tried to find supplementary crew, to no avail.”

“Mr Seafort—”

“You’re aware, sir, my crew is on long-leave? I’m dreadfully understaffed. In my view, this constitutes an emergency. According to Article Twelve of the Naval Regulations and Code of Conduct, Revision of 2087, during a state of emergency, involuntary impressment into the Naval Service is authorized.”

We all stared in shock.

“As you know, all Naval personnel are deemed citizens for the duration of their enlistment. If you’ll read this excerpt from our Log, you’ll see that, this morning, I impressed Randolph Carr into the U.N. Naval Service.”

“You what?”

“Randy’s my new ship’s boy.”

Branstead’s heli droned over the huge stand of genera trees whose shade covered the fringes of the Plantation Zone. I stared at the Naval work blues I’d so naively donned this morning. Had Mr Seafort planned it from the start? Was I a prisoner of
Olympiad
after all? Was he saving me, or exacting revenge?

At the courthouse, Scanlen had sputtered, “Preposterous!” He clutched me all the harder. “Don’t trifle with the Church, sir. Your very soul—”

Mr Seafort’s eyes had narrowed. “Ms Skor, take the ship’s boy outside.”

She’d advanced on the Bishop with a look that chilled even me. Moments later, I found myself in the last of the day’s sun. I’d looked to her for reassurance, found none. “Ma’am?”

“He’ll be out presently.” Her fingers flicked my collar straight.

“But … what was he doing?”

“Obeying orders to the letter.”

“That’s goofju—” At her scowl, I snapped my mouth shut.

What was it Kenzig had told the Captain?
As long as he’s a Hope Nation citizen, transfer him to the Church … Send him groundside, see that he’s put in the custody of the proper authorities.
So, Seafort had given me U.N. citizenship, taken me groundside, and put me in custody of the proper authority. Himself. I couldn’t help a grin. Ms Skor scowled anew.

Now, as we flew over Branstead Plantation I asked cautiously from the backseat, “Sir, why ship’s boy? Why not cadet?”

Mr Seafort said only, “You’re not nearly mature enough for cadet.”

I didn’t like the answer, but knew better than to press.

“A ship’s boy,” said Mr Branstead, “is generally an orphan.” His eyes were closed; he’d let the heli’s puter navigate. I hadn’t even bothered to ask if they’d let me pilot; joeys my age weren’t supposed to know how.

“When he’s grown,” said Mr Seafort, “he becomes an ordinary seaman, occasionally even a cadet. And like a cadet, he’s a minor, a ward of his commanding officer, subject to whatever discipline his Captain sees fit. Take that as warning.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Not at present.”

I supposed I could take some comfort in that. “Will I have to sail with you?” It sounded less gracious than I’d intended.

“You’d prefer the training farm?”

“God, no.”

After a time I realized the silence was glacial. I played back what I’d said. “Sir, I meant no disrespect.”

“I meant what I told Scanlen: I won’t allow His name to be taken in vain. And speaking of taking His name …”

“Yes, sir?”

“Like every member of the ship’s company, you’re required to take an oath. Do you know it?”

“No.”

“Jerence?”

Mr Branstead said, “Think I could ever forget it, sir? After that week locked in my cabin, with nothing but the oath to distract me from the vial of juice? Pay attention, Randy. ‘I do swear upon my immortal soul to serve and protect the Charter of the General Assembly of the United Nations, to give loyalty and obedience for the term of my enlistment to the Naval Service of the United Nations and to obey all its lawful orders and regulations, so help me Lord God Almighty.’”

I said, “I swear.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Mr Seafort’s voice was sharp. “It’s a serious undertaking. You’ll memorize it—Jerence will help you write it down—and be sure you understand your commitment. Before dinner, I’ll administer the oath.”

“Yessir.” I managed to stay silent, and therefore out of trouble, until we set down at dusk on the front lawn of Carr Plantation. Anthony’s home, and until recent days, mine.

“Son …” It warmed me to hear Mr Seafort address me so. I was afraid my life would all be saluting and drills. “We’ll be here an hour or two. Is there anything you’d like to carry aboard
Olympiad
?”

“Dad’s holo. The zines I saved. Maybe some …” Games, I’d been about to say. Children’s toys.

“Gather them, put them in the heli.”

“Yes, sir.”

I charged up two flights of stairs to my room. Packing took no more than minutes; I realized there was little I wanted to take with me. New life, new start, new gear. But I unlocked my desk, unearthed my trove of news reports of the
Galactic
disaster, carefully packed them in a chipcase.

Downstairs, the families continued to gather. The house was a blaze of lights; public rooms echoed with laughter and chatter.

I turned a corner, found myself face-to-face with Judy Winthrop.

She seemed as startled as I.

“Randy.” She eyed my work blues.

I might never have another chance. I pulled her to an empty room, wrapped myself around her in a hug. Her hand flitted across my back, and was still.

At length I said, “You heard?”

“That you bashed Captain Seafort. What came over you?”

“I’m an idiot.”

Judy giggled. “At least you know it.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Mom and Dad brought me to meet Mr Seafort. No one imagined you’d be in the manse. What if the Bishop sees you?”

“He can’t touch me. I’m ship’s boy on
Olympiad.
”

“Don’t joke.”

“It’s true. Mr Seafort said so.” I sounded proud, and was.

“He must have arranged it with Anthony.”

It was like a bucket of ice water. Would he have? Did that mean he was helping me only for Anth’s sake?

“As long as you’re safe, Randy. What does it matter?”

It mattered. No time for that now. “I’ve missed you.” I tried not to sound as shy as I felt.

“Me too.” The words I’d yearned to hear.

I flopped onto a couch, sat cross-legged. We whispered and chattered.

Eventually an adult found us; automatically we thrust ourselves apart, but it was only Mr Branstead. “We’ll be leaving after a bit. Say your farewells.” He was gone.

I dared say nothing. Tremulously, I brought my lips to Judy’s. No resistance, no protest. I pressed tight. My hand strayed.

In a while I slipped out of the room. I’d actually fondled her breast—my first time—but life’s other mysteries would have to wait. I sighed.

Across the hall, a familiar figure accepted an iced juice from a houseman. I was appalled; how could Bishop Scanlen partake of Anthony’s hospitality as if nothing had happened? I edged past him into the parlor.

“Randy.” A soft voice. Mom. She was curled on a couch, Mr Seafort at her side.

I ran to her. She said, “The Captain says you’ve been a bad boy.”

“Yes.” She must have taken a light dose today; she was half with us. I dropped to sit at her feet.

Mr Seafort said, “I was telling Sandra I’ve been here before.”

“Years ago,” she said dreamily. “Years and years.”

I was overcome with embarrassment, but the Captain didn’t seem to notice.

Mom’s tone was languid. She said to him, “Did you know Derek?”

In desperation I blurted, “Sir, would you like to see my room?

“That would be nice. Madam, would you excuse me a moment?”

“Of course.” She raised her fingers, and to my utter astonishment, he kissed them.

He took my hand. As fast as I could, I tugged him to the stairs. “I’m sorry, she’s … sometimes she gets—”

He stopped moving; I had to do the same. “It’s all right, Randy.”

“She means no harm. Some days she’s more alert, and …”

“No. It’s all right.” He held my eye, until I was sure he meant it.