Children of Hope (38 page)

“Anthony? Captain Seafort. Sorry I couldn’t return your … Ahh. I see. That could be a problem, if he supports the Bishop. What does Jerence say? Hmm.”

I set down my holovid.

Fath covered the caller. “He’s having trouble with Palabee’s party. Nothing serious. Finish your verses.” To Anth, “When’s the trial? The sooner you deal with Scanlen … would you rather I took him home and deposited him with the Patriarchs? I don’t mind; the man is penance for my sins.”

Fath chuckled. “Well, let me know. By the way, Tolliver says most of our passengers want off, immediately or sooner, now that the fish showed no interest in your shuttle. They’re skittish about having an outrider aboard; can’t say I blame them, though we have guards all around it … Well, I’ve no idea how long. Who knows where this will take us? We’ve never had discussions with an alien.” His pacing took him past my table; he glanced downward, covered the caller. “Three extra verses, for not getting back to work when I told you.” To the caller, “Hmm? No, just brutalizing young Randolph. Continue.”

The negotiating arena wasn’t finished yet; we went to dinner, Proverbs spinning in my head. I’d learned something useful: Fath couldn’t be budged by pleas or promises. And sullenness was a tactic to be avoided.

I’d have to study him. Every adult had his weak points.

Casually, he tousled my hair. Part of me wanted to bite him, the other to wriggle like a puppy.

The tension in the Dining Hall was palpable. No welcome, no greetings, only hostile stares. All from passengers, of course. Crew wouldn’t dare.

Mr Pandeker stood, gave the usual prayer, while Fath watched in silence. Was it only yesterday that Anth had sat at our table?

Afterward, Fath remained standing. “I know many of you are concerned that we’ve had contact with a fish. We’re taking thorough precautions, and it seems there’s little danger. Nonetheless, I’ve spoken to Stadholder Carr. He’ll find temporary housing for those of you who wish to go ashore until we sail. Please see Purser Li to make arrangements.” He hesitated. “It’s my belief we won’t be attacked.”

Tad Anselm was at our table, but not Mik. I looked around, couldn’t spot him. Perhaps he was on watch.

I dived into my salad; Bible-thumping made me hungry.

After a moment Fath handed me my napkin, frowned until I used it. I suppressed a sigh. It was going to be a long adolescence.

The purser leaned over Fath’s shoulder, whispered.

“Of course. Bring him over.”

In a moment he was back, Chris Dakko in tow.

Mr Dakko looked awful: unshaven, rumpled. But his voice was steady. “I came to apologize.”

“Accepted.”

“You deserve civility. But how can you allow that … thing among us?”

“You wouldn’t believe it, Chris. It communicated. It wants peace. I think we can—”

“Yes, I saw how it communicated with Kevin.”

“We did that, Chris, shooting it.”

“After it burst through our hull, decompressing us.” Mr Dakko drew a deep breath. “Still, I apologize. I’ll never curse you again.” With what might have been a token salute, he turned on his heel, returned to his table.

After a few moments, the purser was back. Another passenger wanted audience. Fath looked weary, but assented.

A middle-aged woman, easily past thirty.

“Sorry to bother you during dinner.” Her voice was pleasant. “Sir, I’ve two children aboard. How sure are you we’ll be safe?”

“I can’t be sure.” Fath met her eye. “I’ve three children of my own on
Olympiad.
” Mikhael, Janey, and who? … Oh! Me. “At the moment, I’m not unduly worried.”

“What would you advise?”

“Ma’am, you’re booked to Kall’s Planet?”

“My husband’s there. I’m joining him at Hawking Lab.”

“If you go ashore, there’s risk—minor, I’ll grant you—that you’ll be stranded. The next ship of the line won’t reach here for six months.”

“Why stranded?”

I yearned to throw down my fork, snarl, “Let him eat in peace.” But I didn’t.

“If I’m wrong and the fish attack, we might suddenly have to Fuse.”

“In that case, where would I be safer, here or ashore?”

“Lord only knows, ma’am.”

It didn’t satisfy her, but she retreated to her table.

Dessert. Andrew Ghent came rushing in. “Midshipman Ghent reporting, sir.” A crisp salute. “Mr McAndrews’s compliments, and the arena is ready for inspection.”

“Excellent.” The Captain sipped his coffee. “Have him make sure the servo is well stocked with alumalloy sheets. No copper.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Smartly, the boy wheeled off. I studied his gait. I could do that, if it came to it. But who’d want to be a middy? I turned my attention back to the table. “What are you grinning at, Fath?”

“Nothing, son.”

On the way out he stopped at the hatchway caller. “Bridge, who has the watch?”

“I just came on, sir. Ms Frand.”

“Where’s Edgar?”

“I believe he went to the lounge.”

“Ask him if he cares to join us at the negotiating table.” He replaced the caller, threw an arm over my shoulder. “Someday, you’ll be grown.”

Was that supposed to be a revelation?

“You’ll have children. Grandchildren.”

“Yes, sir?” No harm in being polite. It meant so much to him.

“You’ll tell them of this day. That you were present, when two races first met, and spoke. Holovids will be made, books written. You’ll be famous, you know.”

I threw him a skeptical glance. He seemed serious.

“We haven’t done anything yet,” I said. And besides, history was made by heads of state, like Dad. And heroes.

“Who first invented a joint language?”

“You did, sir.”

“Oh? Who told me the outrider was showing submission?”

“I did, but …” A chill. Was it possible someday I’d be in the holos?

“You’re capable of great things, Randy. Don’t bridle at a few Scripture verses.”

I felt so forlorn I wanted to cry.

It was almost as I’d pictured it. The corridor hatch was closed, blocking our view of the alien. For our side, the crew had set up a comfortable table, two padded armchairs that looked as if they could have been borrowed from the bridge. On the table, electronic touch pads, a caller, a mini-console with a cable snaking to a hatch control.

The table was set before a thick transplex barrier, which was attached to the bulkhead with grommets that could be removed from our side, but not from the alien’s. Of course, if the outrider chose to burn through it, we’d be forced into a mad dash for the safety of our section hatch.

Beyond the barrier, a pair of one-armed servos whirred and clicked, in what seemed random motions. As Mr Seafort settled into one of the chairs with a sigh of relief, the servo arms reached across, grasped each other’s extensions, bobbed up and down.

Fath snorted. “Cute, Jess.”

“Glad you enjoyed it, sir.” The puter’s baritone came from all sides. I glanced up. Speakers had been mounted, high, low, behind us as well. “Ready when you are.”

Tad Anselm stood by, looking pleased.

“Very impressive,” the Captain said. “How many of the crew did it take to set this up?”

“Almost thirty,” Tad said cheerfully. “It was a real clusterf—”

“No doubt.” Fath cleared his throat. “It’s still in there?”

The speakers boomed. “Midway in the corridor, sir, about two meters from the airlock hatch.”

“Very well. Tad, have a screen added to our assembly. Might as well be able to see our guest while the hatch is closed.”

“Aye aye, sir.” He hesitated. “Are you ready? I’ll call Mr Janks.”

“He won’t be necessary.”

Tad said hesitantly, “Sir, I’m only a lieutenant, and a recent one at that, but would you permit some advice?”

Fath grinned at me. “Now there’s a joey skilled at diplomacy. Go ahead.”

“We’ve all a natural instinct to safeguard you. Resisting it only irritates the crew, and their protection does no harm.”

“Right.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken until Fath shot me a glance of annoyance.

“Hmmm. I suppose it won’t hurt. But no sudden, overt moves with a pistol. Fire only at my command.”

“You may not have time—”

“Nonsense. The outrider has to burn through that shield of yours to reach us. Let’s go.”

Jess intervened. “Pardon, sir. If you’d like, I can keep track of our symbols. I know of four to date: a human face, a live fish, a dead fish, and an outrider.”

“And erasure for negation. Yes, keep track. Let’s get started.”

Quietly, I slipped into the chair at Fath’s side. He appeared not to notice.

When the master-at-arms’s detail was in place, we keyed open the corridor hatch.

The outrider was still for a moment, then skittered our way.

“Let’s start with a peace sign.” Awkwardly, Fath drew a screenful of fish, made them look dead. Inside the barrier, a servo copied his drawing onto a large plate.

The outrider collapsed onto it. After a time, it stood.

Fath scribbled over the drawing, erasing it.

I peered at his drawing, fingers itching. “I could do that. If you said the words to draw …”

“No, you’re going to bed in an hour. You’ve dark circles under your eyes.”

The outrider tasted anew. Its swirls moved more slowly than yesterday, in slow orbit on its skin. It lay on the erased plate. When it was done, Jess’s servo raised the plate so we could see.

A new sign, a ragged spiral.

Fath’s tone was tentative. “A solar system?”

Tad looked over our shoulder. “An orbit? Fusion?”

Puzzled silence. The alien waited.

I said, “How about, ‘Yes’?”

Fath turned and stared.

“What if he’s simply agreeing with you?”

Tolliver ambled through, from section six. “I’ve been thinking, sir. If we recite all of Shakespeare for it …”

“We need a drawing. Anything it understands.” Fath thought. “A person.” He drew a stick face. The alien tasted it. “Now, erase.” He scribbled over the face.

“Why not let me do the drawing, sir?” Jess. “Anything you’ve drawn once …” The puter conjured a screenful of fish images. “It might save time.”

“Try it. Redraw the face. Erase it again, but this time put an X in the corner.”

“Which corner?”

“Any corner. Don’t be so literal.”

“Would I ask you not to be human?” With what might have been a sigh, the puter redrew the stick face, the erasure, the new sign.

“Is that your new signature, sir? An X? In case you enlist as a trannie when—”

“It’s a symbol for ‘no,’ Edgar. To go with the spiral ‘yes.’”

“If our cuddly friend agrees. Perhaps it thinks you’re speaking of dead humans. Lunch.”

My stomach recoiled.

Tad asked, “Now what’s it doing?”

We peered. The alien had reshaped itself into something more squat. When it moved, it left behind a thick liquid, in a bowl-like crust. A protoplasmic arm extruded, pushed it a few inches in our direction.

Silence. I yawned.

The Captain cleared his throat. “Ideas, anyone?”

“A peace offering?” Tad.

“I think it pissed at you.”

“Edgar!”

“It’s as good an explanation as—”

“It’s never done it before.”

“We know almost nothing about its metabolism.”

The outrider withdrew beyond the corridor hatch, leaving its offering behind. It touched a bulkhead, stood there quivering.

Behind us, Mr Janks cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, sir, but Mr Dakko asks if he might join us.”

The Captain tapped his drawing table. “I think not. No, it wouldn’t be a good idea.” He turned his attention back to the transparent shield. “What do we do about … that?” He regarded the offering in the crusty bowl of protoplasm.

Apparently the outrider had the same question. It lapped over the bowl, reabsorbed it. Its dots and blobs swirled a touch faster. Then, while Fath considered the matter, it excreted the offering again, shoved it in our direction, retreated.

Fath contemplated. I yawned prodigiously.

“It wants us to take it, that’s clear. Very well.” He stood. “Evacuate the area. Nonreactive containers, full precautions. Dr Romez and the Chief are in charge. Detailed physical and chemical analysis, report to my cabin. Let’s go, joey.” He headed down the corridor.

“Where?” Reluctantly, I followed.

“I’ve got work to do. You’re off to bed.” He steered me toward section six.

“Fath!” I stopped short.

“Come along.” He grasped my hand.

I debated pulling free, didn’t quite dare. “I’m fourteen!”

“Your point?”

“It’s ridiculous, putting me to bed like a—”

“You raise your son, I’ll raise mine.”

There were many things I could say, none of them wise. Fuming, I restrained myself as we made our way down the corridor.

Fath slapped open the cabin hatch. Inside, a low light. Corrine Sloan came to her feet.

The Captain stood stock-still.

“I brought Janey.” Her voice was soft. “She was restless, didn’t want me to leave. Mikhael urged me to stay until she slept. He said you wouldn’t mind …”

“It’s all right.”

“Thank you, Nick. I’ll go.”

“Just a moment. Randy, a shower before bed.”

My cheeks flamed. How could he, in front of her?

“You’ve been weeping,” he said to her.

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that. Do you want to tell me?”

“I don’t know … I …”

“Randy, go about your business.” Fath’s tone held a warning note.

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s just … sooner or later, I’ll have to leave her.”

Reluctantly, I disappeared into the head.

When I emerged, clean and damp, Corrine was gone. Fath sat dejectedly on the edge of his bed.

I climbed into my bunk, careful not to wake Janey, in her cot in the corner.

Bedtime, two hours past dinner? Nonsense! I’d show him. I’d stay awake for hours.

“How long wilt thou sleep, O sluggard? When wilt thou arise out of thy sleep?”

“Huh?”

“Proverbs 6:9.” Fath threw off my outer blanket. “It’s time for breakfast. And we’ve agreed with the outrider on five new words.”

I swung my legs out of bed. “Which ones?” I worked my toes into my slippers, pulled up my sagging pajamas.