Children of Hope (35 page)

Mr Seafort looked at me, as if for the first time. “Why, to section four.”

Sometimes, when day is done, you find yourself unutterably weary. You have a dream, or live it, you’re not sure which. Time freezes, while you cross the deck, stumbling in your haste. You rush to his side, but he won’t notice you. You slip under Tolliver’s outstretched arms that bar his way. You back into the bulkhead across the corridor. You stand, mouth working, watching the unspoken drama play out.

You see him grasp Tolliver’s shoulders, embrace him, set him gently aside. You watch him trudge through the hatch, limp along the corridor toward the ladder. You fall in alongside.

You tug at his arm, but he doesn’t notice.

You ignore your tears, dart in front of him. “Mr Seafort?” Your voice is distant, as in a dream.

He moves around you. You grasp his lapels, pull him to a halt. “Sir! Captain!”

“You mustn’t do that. We’re on duty, and it’s forbidden.” His voice comes from afar.

You bang your head against his chest. “Sir! Listen!” You take a deep breath, and another, but it doesn’t bring calm. You force your tongue and lips to utter the forbidden word. “Father …” No one strikes you dead. “Please. I have to go too.”

“Absolutely not.” He looks past you, to the ladder.

“You won’t do it without me.” You’re trembling, and don’t know why. The dream is strange, your grip on his lapels fierce. “Father, sir, it’s the most important favor I’ll ever ask. I have to see it.” The encounter. The outrider.

His steps slow, and stop. “Why, Randy?”

Because it killed Kevin, and you have to know why. Because in this hour you might lose your new father. Because …

Somehow, you make your voice resolute. “Because I’m your son.”

Slowly, his gaze makes its way from the ladder, to the corridor, to the deck, to the bulkhead, to you. “You understand what I …”

“Yes!”

An infinity passes. Your grip eases; he will do what he does, and you’ve no power to change him. You’re not truly his son, never will be.

His hand comes out, waits for yours.

“Very well, son. Come along.”

And he leads you to the ladder.

T
HE SECTION SIX LOCKER
was crammed with suits. Mr Seafort watched me select one, made sure it was the right size, helped me climb into it. Abruptly his eyes widened. “Oh, Lord.”

“What, sir?”

“I helped Derek with a suit, just before …” He said no more. He secured my helmet, keyed the locker’s caller. “Seafort to Bridge.”

“Here, sir.”
Tolliver.

“What’s it doing?”

“Skittering about. Exploring. Measuring us for coffins. Who the hell knows?”

“Easy.”

“Sorry.”

The Captain walked me toward the corridor hatch.

“Where’s yours, Father?” My voice was still shaky. Had it been a dream, our encounter in the corridor? Somehow, I doubted it.

“I’ll wear none.”

“Then I won’t—”

“No.” He pulled me along. “Out of the question.”

“Why won’t you—”

“If the outrider means to kill me, it will. I’ve fought them all my life. Now, I lay down my arms.”

“Sir, I’m not arguing, but …” But I wanted desperately to argue. I forced my words aside. “Help me understand.”

“You’ve never had to kill.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Kevin wasn’t your faul—”

“Not him, the deacon by the heli. I broke his neck to escape the Church farm.”

“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten.” He patted me, as if it didn’t matter. “Do you feel good about it?”

I wanted to retch. “No.”

“Multiply it a thousandfold. More.”

I couldn’t conceive of it.

“All these years,” he said, “I thought I’d done genocide. I thought no fish were left, that Lord God had led me to the most vile deed imaginable. I’ve ha—hate”—His face contorted. “—hated Him for it.”

“But they’re killers. They bombed Centraltown, destroyed the fleet, murdered—”

“Before I die, I’d like to know why.”

“Will we die?”

“I hope not. Will you wait outside?”

“No.” I strove for calm, and this time, found it. “No, Father.”

An armed guard was at the hatch to five. Mr Seafort—Father—said simply, “Open.”

“Aye aye, sir.” He stabbed at the panel.

The hatch slid open. At the far end of the section, barely visible past the corridor curve, half a dozen suited guards aimed laser rifles and pistols at the hatch to four.

We trudged along the corridor.

I swallowed. Five was where Kevin had died, where I’d sat in the corridor slamming my head against the bulkhead. Where Corrine had found me, and led me to salvation.

“She’s kind, and good, and lonely.”

He asked, “Who is?”

“Ms Sloan.”

“Good Lord.”

“You should pay her more attention.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” As we neared the far hatch, he stopped, bent, looked me in the eye. For a time he said nothing. Then, “Son, if I—” He blinked, started over. “I ask a favor, but if you don’t want to grant it …”

“Tell me.”

“Before we go in, forgive me for Derek. I mean, if you can. If it doesn’t—oh, Lord Christ!” He broke away, stared at the bulkhead. “Can you forgive it?” His voice was muffled. “It would mean … everything.”

“But you didn’t kill him. I only thought you had.”

“Not kill him. Led him to …” His eyes glistened. “I’m sorry I asked. I’ll bear my own—”

I clawed at my helmet seals, tore them free, breathed the fresh corridor air. If he asked this of me, it meant …

I marveled.

I truly had value to him.

“Father, did I kill Kevin?”

“No. He died of his own foolishness.”

“Did you kill Derek?”

A long silence. “No, he died of his own heroism, that he sought.”

All I could think to say was what I’d heard from him. “I absolve you. Even unto death. Whatever your part in it, I forgive.” And it was so; the last dregs of my bitterness melted away, at least for the time. I tried to smile. “Now, let’s not kill ourselves too.”

“Lord God bless you, son.” His spine seemed straighter as he led me to the section hatch. “You there. Boritz.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Who among you has a spare weapon?”

“Rifle or pistol?”

“Pistol.”

The guards huddled together, produced a laser pistol. Father checked the safety, put it in my hand. “You know how to use it?”

“Anthony showed me. We carved figures in tree trunks.”

“How quaint. Pay attention, now. The aiming light is automatic, whenever this safety is off. Don’t turn the intensity past midrange, or you’ll risk burning through the hull.” He scowled. “Use this only to save your own life. Not mine.”

“I won’t let that outrider—”

“‘Yes, sir, I’ll do what I’m told.’” Father’s eyes were frosty. “Don’t keep me waiting, I have an appointment. ‘Yes, sir.’ Right now, Randy.”

“Yes, sir. Just to save my life.” If I had to begin with disobedience and a lie, so be it.

“You guards, retreat to six, until I’ve gone through to four and the hatch is closed. Randy, you’ll remain at the hatch. Watch, but don’t interfere.”

“I’m not sure.”

I said, “If it touches you …” The outriders bore acid that burned away a neck, left only one staring eye.
What was I doing here?

“I’ll try to stay clear of it.”

I was going along to help Father. Wouldn’t I have done the same for Dad, without an instant’s thought?

How could I be so brave and so cowardly, at once? Dad knew no fear. I was his son as well as Mr Seafort’s. I must act in a way to make him proud. I bent myself to the effort. “Ready, sir.” Behind us, the hatch to six was closing. We were alone in the section.

“Very well.” Father locked my helmet in place, switched on my suit speaker. He keyed the hatchway caller. “Edgar, I’m going in.”

“It’s at the far end, at the moment. The bloody thing races incredibly fast.”

“So I’ve seen.”

“Godspeed Nick.”
Tolliver’s voice caught.
“Sir, for all the trouble I’ve been, over the years, I …”

“Don’t say it.”

“Oh, let me; I’ll never feel this way again. I apologize. And I salute you.”

“Bless you, Edgar.”

Father opened the hatch.

Together, we went through.

There, near a cabin hatch. A misshapen form. Blotches and dots swirled on its outer layer.

“That’s far enough, Randy. Safety off. Shoot if it comes at you.”

I licked my lips. “Yessir.”

As if on his way to officers’ mess, Mr Seafort ambled down the corridor. Only the clenching and unclenching of his fist betrayed his tension.

The alien froze.

Father halted.

The outrider quivered, lurched, flitted toward him with dismaying speed. I raised my pistol.

It stopped just short of him.

He took a step back.

It quivered in mid-deck, a moth poised for flight.

No feet, no face. How does it see? How does it move so fast? How does it …

“I mean no harm,” Father said.

The alien was silent.

“We speak with words. With sounds. Do you emit sounds?”

Nothing.

“Father! …”

“Not another sound!” He sounded furious. I was hurt, until I realized he feared I’d attract its attention.

Father raised a palm, held it outward. Lord God, don’t try to shake hands, it’ll burn off your arm.

The alien sagged, became bloated near its base. Oddly shaped blotches swirled in its skin.

Mesmerized, I watched. Was the outrider swelling, like a balloon? No, the shape was too irregular.

Cautiously, Father took a step backward.

The outrider extended itself toward Mr—toward Father. It wavered, sank even lower.

In another moment it was barely a meter off the deck.

My voice was a whisper. “It’s dying.”

“Put it out of its misery.”
The sudden blare of the speaker made me jump.

“Shush, Edgar.”

The alien form became ever more shapeless. Within its protoplasm bulged an irregularly shaped blob.

Mr Seafort asked, “Is it the oxygen? Should I suit up and de-air the section?”

“Shoot it first.”

The outrider was little more than a puddle on the deck.

“Did we give
it
a virus?” Father regarded the inert form.

On its skin, colors continued to swirl. I licked dry lips. “It’s still alive.”

The Captain took a step back, then another.

From the alien, no response. Slowly it gathered itself, grew off the deck.

The Captain stared intently.

It was a meter high, and growing.

Father retraced his steps. The outrider had regained half its height. The Captain stood before it.

The alien began to shrink. In a moment, it was a viscous, lumpy puddle.

“It’s our presence, Edgar. My body is killing it!”

“Good!”

“Don’t say that.” Father backed away.

The alien rose, couldn’t maintain itself, collapsed anew.

I suppressed an urge to stomp on it, splash its protoplasm on the bulkheads. It, or its brother, killed Kevin. But first it reduced him to a terrified child pleading for his daddy.

I had a vision of Kev at the swimming hole, tall and strong and bold, swinging out over the pond. The games we played, that idyllic summer.

The alien rose, drooped again. A misshapen puddle, not an inch of it lifted off the deck plates.

“Edgar, it’s dying. I’ll get a suit. Prepare to decompress four.” Father strode to a locker. “Maybe that will save—”

A bolt of lightning held me transfixed.

“Sir, no!” I stumbled after him, almost fell. “It’s not dying, it’s—it’s—”

“What, boy?”

“Like Kevin, last summer, when he’d twist my arm, get me down. Don’t you see?”

Again the alien reassembled into a stiffened form. Once more it splashed itself on the alloy deck.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“It’s …” I danced in frenzy. “… submitting!” Kev would hold me to the ground until I acknowledged his strength. But I was stubborn and wouldn’t yield, not ’til he … “He keeps trying to yield to you!”

“Does it see us?”

“It has to!”

“You’re too close, son.” He waited, with growing impatience, until I retreated a few steps.

Careful not to touch the mass of protoplasm, the Captain got to his knees. Then, with an effort, he lowered himself to the deck, lay prone. After a moment he climbed to his feet.

The outrider lay supine.

Father banged the bulkhead with his fist, made a rising motion.

Nothing.

Again, Father lay down on the deck, climbed to his knees, got to his feet.

Half a minute passed, that seemed like hours.

The alien reared up, sucking its protoplasm into new forms. In a moment it stood quivering before us.

Father’s voice was soft. “Randy, lend me your pistol.”

“Set it on high, sir. Burn it to smudge, and get the hell out of there.”

“Don’t blaspheme, Edgar.”

I put the pistol in his hand. He narrowed the beam, set it to low. Kneeling, he aimed at the deck. Carefully, he traced a small circle. It etched a curved line in the plate.

Then, carefully, he etched six smaller circles around it.

I asked, “What’s that, sir?”

“The solar system.” Ours, not Father’s. Hope Sun had six planets in orbit.

When he was done, he stepped back, waited.

The corridor holocam whirred.

The alien did nothing. I eased backward, step by step, toward the hatch. The damn quivering was driving me crazy. And now Mr Seafort had the pistol; I couldn’t even defend myself.

Abruptly the alien sagged, but not all the way. Spreading its base, it flowed over the deck drawing, covering it entirely.

We waited.

Perhaps a minute passed. The alien reared, resumed its full height.

Father knelt, pointed to the center circle. “Hope Nation Sun.” His fingers roved. “Planets. Orbits.”

The outrider did nothing.

Father sighed. “Edgar, what’s the fish Outside up to?”

“It’s at rest, waiting for our shot amidships.”