Children of Hope (40 page)

“Sir, I—”

“Right now, Randy.” I trudged dejectedly back to our cabin. What a day. And I hadn’t even had breakfast.

My hated chore completed, the Bible lay open between us.

“And that’s when Ms Frand caught me running.”

Fath heard me out in silence, but there was a glint in his eyes that might have been humor. “Terrible,” he said. “What will we do with you?” He got to his feet. “I think I know the problem.”

“What, sir?” I sounded apprehensive, because I was.

“Come here.” With a glint of humor, he embraced me. And then we went to lunch.

“Seventeen new words,” said Mr Tolliver, biting into a hot, juicy soybeef on rye. “I must admit, that’s progress. In just a generation or two, we’ll be able to carry on a chat. In fact—”

“Why, Edgar!” Fath was in good spirits. “You, cynical? I never thought I’d live to see—”

Andrew Ghent tore into officers’ mess, his face flushed. “Sir—Captain—Midshipman Ghent reporting—”

It wasn’t fair that he could run and I couldn’t. I’d have to speak to Fath about it.

“—Ms Frand says the outrider is agitated and you should come quick, her compliments I mean, and if you please—”

“Steady, Mr Ghent.” Fath threw down his napkin. “Randy, care to come along?”

Did I care to breathe? Did a Bishop read the Bible? Did—

I scurried after him. We’d barely reached the hatch when the alarms shrieked.
“General Quarters! All hands to General Quarters!”
The voice, taut with tension, sounded like Tad Anselm.

“Where to, Fath?”

By answer, he grabbed the hatchway caller. “Seafort to Bridge.”

“Lieutenant Anselm reporting. The outrider’s gone to section four airlock. If he burns through the outer hatch, the section will decompress.”

“The inner hatch was left open?”

“As per your orders, yes, sir.”

“What’s he doing now?”

“Scuttling in and out of the lock.”

“When he’s inside, cycle.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Pipe ‘Pilot to the Bridge.’ I’ll be along.” He strode along the corridor.

“Is he mad at us? What were the seventeen words?” I trotted to keep up.

“Pilot Van Peer to the bridge, flank.”

“I don’t know, son.” We strode through another section. “You’ve been a great help, so I’ll allow you on the bridge. But we’re on duty now, both of us.” It was a warning.

“Yes, sir.” No other response would do.

A middy I’d met yesterday shared Lieutenant Anselm’s watch. Uniform crisp, hair neatly brushed, he jumped to his feet when he spotted the Captain.

“As you were, Mr Braun. Tad, is he Outside?” The Captain took his seat. I found an empty place, in the training row behind.

“I can’t cycle, he won’t hold still enough.”

“Visuals.”

“There, can you see him? Half inside the lock?”

“What set him off?”

“I’ve no idea, sir.”

“Laser room, stand by to fire. Safeties removed!”

“Frand here. Aye aye, sir.”

“Comm Room to Bridge. Incoming call from the Stadholder. He says it’s urgent.”

“Pilot Van Peer reporting for duty.” The Pilot, lanky, graying, was breathing hard.

“Take your seat. Move us within twenty meters of the fish. Our guest wants to go home.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Grasping the thruster levers, Van Peer licked his lips. “This’ll be a first.”

“No idle chat, gentlemen.” The Captain paced before the simulscreen. “Mr Anselm, watch the inner hatch. Be ready.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Comm Room, put Mr Carr through.”

“Visuals?”

“No. Take care, Pilot. Don’t hit her. Ms Frand!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Your primary target is the fish. Don’t fire unless she makes for our fusion tubes, or winds up to throw an appendage.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Captain Seafort?”
Anthony.

“Mr Van Peer, slow your approach. We don’t want to scare her off. Yes, Stadholder? It’s rather a busy moment.”

“There, sir!” Tad jabbed at his console. “He’s gone in! Cycling.”

“Hull view.”

The simulscreen blinked. Abruptly, our hull stretched to infinite distance. I tried to orient myself, spot the outer hatch.

“Sir …” The Pilot. “I’d like a view of the fish, for reference.”

“Jess, split screen. Go ahead, Mr Carr.”

“Did Branstead call you?”

“Last night.”

“Palabee’s gone over to the Church, I’m sure of it. He’s helping hide Scanlen, so Andori will appear blameless. We’re headed for crisis. Where’s Chris Dakko?”

“He went groundside this morning.”

A sharp regret stabbed my gut. I’d meant to have a last goodbye with Kev. He deserved it.

The fish loomed, alarmingly close. Mr Van Peer nudged the thrusters.

“Mr Braun, don’t fiddle with your console.” Fath’s voice was a rasp.

The middy jerked in his seat. “Aye aye, sir.” He pressed his hands in his lap.

“I’ll try to find him. His people haven’t been cooperative, but
…
”
His people? I thought Mr Dakko was a victualler. Anth made it sound as if he had a cadre, a political—

The Captain said, “Jess, sensor report, Level 2 east airlock.”

“Pressure twenty percent and falling. Hatch integrity undisturbed. Anomaly within lock.”

“The outrider?”

“I presume so. Airlock sensors are not programmed to recognize motion of other than humans or servos.”

“It’s the outrider.”

“Substitution noted.”

“Mr Seafort, may I be frank?”

“Of course.”

“If I had your experience, or Grandpa’s … Sir, for most of my life you headed a government that dwarfs mine. What should I do?”

“Just a moment, Stadholder. I’ve a situation here.” The Captain drummed the console. “Sorry I snapped at you, Mr Braun.” His voice was quiet. “Nerves.”

“Thank you, sir.” The midshipman sat very straight.

“Eleven percent,” said Jess. “Five. Vacuum achieved.” A gap in the smooth surface of the hull. The outer hatch slid open.

The Pilot, with gentle nudges of his thrusters, positioned us closer to the fish. At last, we came to rest relative to the alien.

Virtually ignoring the fish, the Captain stared at the outrider. “If he skitters along the hull …”

I blanched. The outrider could melt through the hull just about anywhere, and wreak havoc. Even here on the bridge. I glanced about. Where was the suit locker?

“Mr Seafort, are you there?”

A shapeless form, at the hatch.

Eyes riveted on the simulscreen, the Captain clasped his hands behind his back.

The fish’s colors pulsed.

The form on our hull quivered, flexed.

“Godspeed.” Fath spoke in a whisper.

The outrider launched itself into the infinite cold of space. I swallowed. If it missed …

It landed on the fish amidships, seemed to stick to its surface. The fish’s skin swirled, became indistinct. The outrider shrank.

It disappeared within.

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

“All right, Anthony. For the moment I can give you my full attention.” A pause. “Understand, my own conflicts with the Church skew my judgment.”

“Still, sir, I want it.”

“Very well. The Bishops are inevitably allied with Earth. In my view, you can’t govern in their name.”

My breath caught.

“Disestablishment? I’m not sure I could carry it.”

“Excommunication is a mighty club.” Fath was quiet. “And Andori will use it, without qualm.”

“Whether I govern with Church or without, he has that power.”

“Only among those who listen. How many are they?”

“Hope Nation remains conservative.”

“Then you’ll fall.”

“Not without a fight.”

“I should tell you, by the way, that our Reverend Pandeker has spent many hours on the caller, consulting his cohorts in Centraltown.”

“About what?”

“I’ve no idea. I’ve no right to listen in.”

“Then how’d you
…”

“The Comm Room thought I’d want to know. Never mind that. What does Jerence say?”

“I can’t risk repeating it, sir. Only face-to-face.”

“Oh, I know him. You’ve told me enough.”

“Thank you. I’ll make my decision shortly.”

“I’ve been little help.”

“More than you know.”
The line went dead.

With a sigh, Fath rubbed his face.

The fish floated before us.

“Now what, sir?” Tad.

“We wait, Lieutenant.”

“How long?”

“However long it takes.”

Braun shot Tad a look of commiseration. Tad frowned.

The Captain paced a moment longer, sank into his seat.

Anselm seemed unfazed. “What, exactly, are we waiting for?”

Fath said with some asperity, “I’ll know when I see it. Anything else, Mr Anselm?”

“No, sir.” To my astonishment, Tad caught my eye and winked.

Fath swiveled. “Mr Carr!”

I jumped. “Yes, sir!” My voice was a squeak.

“Coffee, if you’d be so kind. Tad?”

“No thanks.”

“Pilot?”

“Black, please.”

The nearest dispenser was in the officers’ mess; I hurried along the corridor, a touch resentful he sent me on menial errands like … well, like a ship’s boy. My annoyance faded to a grin. I was crew. This was my work.

When I returned the Captain thanked me absently, sipped at his steaming cup. On the simulscreen was a holoview of section four, where the alien had been housed. In replay, the outrider careened wildly up and down the corridor, hatch to hatch. Its momentum was such that it climbed halfway up the bulkhead, in passing.

Over and again Fath replayed the sequence. The alien, across the barrier, waited for a plate to be shown him. His quivering seemed no greater than usual. He moved to one side, as if balancing himself.

The outrider had no feet. Well, he did, but temporary ones. His weight seemed to roll over onto extended bulges, when he moved. Only in slow-mo playback could I see just how.

“Tad, what’s the fish up to?”

“No change, sir.”

“Mr Seafort, may I suggest we withdraw?” The Pilot.

“How far?”

“How about another solar system?” The Captain glared, but Van Peer seemed unfazed. “At least a few hundred meters, sir. That beast is far too close for comfort.”

“Well … all right. Two hundred meters.”

“And may I suggest we shift position relative to the fish and the Station? We were blocking their shot if—”

“That was deliberate.”

“Oh?” Mr Van Peer said no more, but his silence spoke volumes. Delicately, he tapped the starboard thrusters. In the screen, the fish began to recede.

One eye on the fish, Fath took up his caller. “Comm Room, locate Jerence Branstead, groundside. I want a secure—”

The fish pulsed, disappeared.

“Hello? Comm Room to Bridge. Say again?”

Fath stared.

“Captain?”

I
T WAS A STORMY
evening on the bridge.

The fish didn’t reappear. The watch changed, and we waited.

Andrew Ghent logged two demerits, Mikhael one. There was a spectacular set-to between the Captain and Tad Anselm, when Tad proposed that we reboard our passengers and leave forthwith. Before it was over, I’d been chewed out for fidgeting and sent below to amuse Janey until dinner. Fath was in a dangerous mood. I knew I wasn’t really the cause, but still it rankled.

To make matters worse, Corrine Sloan was uneasy, and a touch morose. When I asked her why, she just shook her head.

The only one whose mood was unaffected was Janey. I showed her a holovid word-building game, and in a few. minutes she was running it on her own. Nonetheless she insisted I stand by, and was quite imperious about it.

Corrine stirred. “You asked about my going ashore.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The reason I’m reluctant is John.”

It made no sense whatsoever, but I kept silent.

“We were to be married, you see.” Her gaze was distant.

“And you broke up.”

“No, not really.” She toyed with her fingernails. “He was a Pentecostal.”

“They’re the devil’s children!”

“Where did you hear that?” Her tone was sharp.

“It’s what the Bishop calls them.” Not that anyone in Hope Nation had ever seen a Pentie; they were a banned sect, crushed almost two centuries ago, in the days of the Reunification. But they were still held out as an example of the folly of religious anarchy. “They’re long gone.”

“Not exactly,” she said. “A number of families remain. They practice their faith underground.”

“In caves?”

“Randy, please don’t be sarcastic.”

I flushed. “I wasn’t.”

“Underground means away from the eyes of the authorities.”

“Oh. Sorry, ma’am.”

“We posted the banns. We lived outside Baton Rouge. There was a neighbor, Arlan Richards … God knows how he knew. Janey, if the word isn’t right, hitting the screen won’t help. You’re a smartie, try again.”

I said, “Were you a Pentie too?”

“I don’t care for that term.”

“Sorry.” It was becoming a refrain. “A Pentecostal.”

“No, but I didn’t mind about John. The truth is Pentecostals are ordinary joeys, religious in their own way. But Arlan Richards went to our minister, and he went to the monsignor.”

“What happened?”

“They forbade the marriage, held John for trial under canon law.”

“What’d he do?”

“The charge was heresy.”

I hissed. That was bad. And the penalties were … I steeled myself. “What happened?”

Her eyes were damp. “I was desperate. My father and I appealed to the Bishop of Louisiana, on behalf of John and his family. The Bishop was …” She grimaced. “Henrod Andori.”

“He refused?”

“By that time they’d held the trial. The conclusion was foreordained, almost literally. But Andori saw us afterward. He called me a whore of Babylon, told me he’d attend the burning himself. And he did.”

“Here, ma’am.” I offered the clean handkerchief Fath made me wear.

“Thank you.” She wiped her eyes. “So did I.”

“Ma’am?”

“Attend the burning. First his mother, then him, then his sister. It was all I had left to give. I wanted him to see me at the last, to know I was with him. It was a terrible mistake, which made it far worse for him. But by the time I knew, it was too late.”