Children of Hope (56 page)

“I sure as hell hope so.” Van Peer jabbed the hatch shut. The engines caught.

“Hearns, help me lift the Captain!”

“I’m all ri—oh!” Fath’s face was ashen. The doctor and the tech eased him to a bed.

“Where’s a caller?” Mik dived into the cockpit. “Janks! Master-at-arms!”

Static. Then, finally, “Janks reporting.”

“Fall back to your shuttle! We’re taking off!”

“You’d best hurry.” But Janks seemed calm enough.

“Lieutenant Skor, here. Sensors caught an explosion. Report!”

Mik jabbed at keys. “Midshipman Tamarov, on the medevac. A fuel truck went up. We’re under attack, ready to lift. Ghent is injured. The Captain, Randy, and Ms Sloan aboard. Janks is getting his men to the shuttle.”

“Where are the rebels?”

My voice was soft. “I’ll remember you, Kevin.”

“Attacking from the south, ma’am. They have the hangars, we have the terminal.”

I blanched. “I mean, Andrew.”

A click.
“Janks, this is Tolliver.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ms Skor has a shot from the Station. Stay to the north. We’ll give you covering fire.”

Fath raised his head. “Belay that!”

Janks said, “Give me a minute, sir. Yost! Disengage, flank! To the shuttle!” His voice faded.

“Now your other arm, sir.” Dr Romez adjusted the safety belts.

“Did you hear me? Don’t fire!”

“I can do nothing, sir. Not from here.” Romez bared Fath’s arm. “Now, sir, your relaxant.”

“Don’t start a war over me. I beg …”

The medicine did its work. Fath sighed. Some of the tension left his frame.

Romez and his tech lifted Andy Ghent from the bed, strapped his corpse into a seat.

“You next, son.” Romez indicated the modified couch, still damp with Andy’s blood.

“I’m fine.” I waved him away, took the seat closest to Andrew.

Fath raised his head as far as his restraints would allow. “Do as he says,
this instant!
”

I jumped to comply. Fath was more alert than he’d let on. I grimaced. His last liftoff had nearly crippled him, and since then he’d endured kidnap, trial, a wall of water, and just now, a heavy fall.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes, sir!” Quickly I lay down in the foamed chair while Dr Romez fussed gently with my knitting shoulder, binding it in some protective material. I muttered, “Sorry, Fath.”

He grunted.

“Station …” Van Peer. “We’re lifting to the north. You’ll have us on radar in a moment or two.”

My voice was tense. “Will he be all right?”

Romez said, “Worry about yourself, joey. You’re not healed near enough for the stress of—”

“Will he?”

“I’m not sure. I think so. Pilot, we’re ready.” Romez took his own seat, adjusted his straps.

The engines roared. I watched Fath anxiously, from the first jolt.

VTOL liftoff is rather gentle, at first. As we gained speed, the wings slid to normal cruise position. The nose tilted upward. Massive engines labored. As we banked, I caught a glimpse of the Plantation Zone. Would I ever see it again? I gulped.

Slowly the pressure grew.

My shoulder ached. Fath breathed slowly, steadily.

Something stabbed my knitting flesh. A bone grated. The cabin pulsed red. I forced a scream through the gravestone on my chest, and passed out.

I
FLOATED IN A
gentle white sea. My shoulder was tightly bound. I blinked. The white sheets of sickbay swam into focus. As I shifted, a wisp of euphoria abruptly burned off.

Dr Romez poked his head in, raised an eyebrow, spoke into his caller. “Romez reporting, sir. He’s awake.” He listened. “Seems fine, for the moment. A goofy smile, eyes not quite focused. I’ll keep him that way ’til we’re sure. And you, sir?” A frown. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not to move. No, grav will stay at one-sixth, and if you order otherwise I’ll urge Mr Tolliver to relieve you.” He grimaced at the agitated buzz emitting from his caller. “Sir, you’re irritable because it hurts; raise the grav and I guarantee it’ll hurt far worse. Good day.” Romez rang off.

I struggled to rouse myself from lethargy. “Is Fath all right?”

“He’s pretending to be better than he feels. Wants to go visit Harry.”

“Who?”

“The alien. That’s what Anselm calls it.”

It made no sense, but I wasn’t alert enough to divert my thoughts. “Is Fath crippled?”

“Not quite. The nerves of his spine are irritated and going into spasm. Getting thrown into a tree by a raging flood didn’t help.”

I flushed; he’d made it sound my fault. “I’m getting up.” My tone was truculent.

Hands on hips, Romez went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “You’re awake enough to track? The Captain should never have gone groundside. The second time wasn’t by his own volition, but still, he came aloft way too early. His vertebrae can’t take much more stress. The Ghenili process is a miracle, but his neural connections are still …” He shook his head. “His next trip ground-side may be the last. Not that you have much say in the matter.”

“I’ll remind him.” Tentatively, I thrust aside a sheet, forgetting we were in severely reduced grav. It billowed. “Stand clear, please.” I swung out my legs. All seemed well, for at least a second. Then I gasped, flailing one-handed for the support of the bed. Romez eased me down, supporting my throbbing torso. I looked at him in mute plea.

“Now you’ve seen for yourself, joey: you’ll be abed a while. Your collarbone was a mess, and while you were under, we prepped you for a prosthesis—a mechanical temp ’til your organic’s ready. Too much damage to your stump to wait any longer. We’re running the bone-growth stimulator twice a day, you won’t be—”

“Bastard!” I drummed my heels, knotted my only available fist. “I didn’t want a prosth!”

“Talk to the Captain. He ordered it.” His tone was frosty. “Neither of you should have been allowed to lift off. Not ’til you’d properly healed, but Capt—your father—wanted you and Ms Sloan brought aloft to safety. Said the situation groundside was too chaotic to risk … well, never mind.”

I gulped. “Is that why he took the shuttle? Because I had to?”

“That’s for him to say.”

“Tell me.” I made my voice meek. “Please.”

“He wouldn’t see you left alone. Out of the question, he told us, so Mr Tolliver dispatched the medevac.”

“Damn.” I knew Dr Romez disapproved, but didn’t care. “Will he be all right? I didn’t want him hurt more. I thought …”

“Joey …” Romez sat on the bed. Surprisingly, his tone was gentle. “Mr Seafort does what he thinks right. Son or no, you won’t change that.”

My eyes burned. I said, “What happened after liftoff?”

“You passed out.”

“Groundside!”

“Janks and his joeys retreated to the shuttle and lifted. Amazingly, poor Ghent was the only one killed.”

“Andy.” I’d sneered at him, almost to the last.

“For now, Mr Janks has guard of Har—the alien, ah, visitor. Tad Anselm is doodling on metal plates to amuse it ’til the Captain’s able to join them. And there’s trouble …” Dr Romez pursed his lips, fell silent.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t spread rumors. And you’re not ship’s company.”

“I will be.” Until I’d said it, I hadn’t known how much I yearned that it again be so.

He frowned. “Well, no doubt you’ll hear soon enough from Tamarov. The master-at-arms reamed Tommy Yost before half the crew. Blamed him for Ghent’s murder. Seems it was Yost’s job to block the lane to the hangars, and he muffed it. Retreated without telling anyone. Janks said Yost wasn’t fit to … he spoke rather strongly.”

I was barely listening.
“Remember me.”
Andrew’s eyes burned into mine. Kevin, are you listening too? I closed a nonexistent hand over my absent friend’s.

I turned to the pillow. Romez mustn’t see.

“I’ll let you rest.”

“I want to visit Fath.” After a moment, “The Captain.”

“Not just yet.”

“I’m his son.”

“You’re too hurt to walk. You’d go to him in a wheelchair, and what will that do for his morale? He’s in pain, joey. More than he’ll ever admit.”

“Can’t you give him sedat—”

“He needs deepsleep, not sedatives. And it’s not just his physical woes. Corrine Sloan is a virtual prisoner in her cabin. She can’t walk about without guard, lest some lunatic assault her to revenge Andori. The Captain’s daughter, Janey, won’t let him out of her sight. And he’s moping about, weeping for Andrew Ghent and the seventeen dead they retrieved from the spaceport.” Romez glared as if it were my fault.

“You said Ghent was the only—”

“Not ours. Theirs. Though I could give a rat’s ass about some colonial—” He broke off, reddening. “Perhaps I’m a touch insular. Sorry. I hope they weren’t folk you knew.”

“Is Scanlen … what about Mr Branstead?”

“Jerence still holds the Governor’s Manse. As for the rest, I’ve no idea. My point is, leave the Captain be. He has enough on his plate.”

I wiped my cheeks, not even caring that he saw them damp. Carefully, I turned on my side, my back to the hatchway, and pretended to sleep.

In two days the throb of my shoulder was subsiding, and I was in a mood to climb the bulkheads from sheer frustration. All I could do was throw tantrums in the sickbay, but Fath’s disposition had affected the whole ship. When Tad Anselm had visited me, he’d had dark circles under his eyes. Mikhael had a distracted look, and waved aside my inquiries.

At last, Romez threw up his hands and brought us together.

In midafternoon he rewrapped my shoulder, bundled me into a powered chair, and wheeled me along Level 1 to the familiar gray hatch.

It was Janey who opened. She regarded me gravely with little-girl eyes. “You can’t come in. Daddy’s sleeping.”

“No, I’m not.” His voice had an edge. “Let them in.” Reluctantly, Janey stood aside.

I gaped. How could a few days have made such a difference?

Fath was gaunt, his eyes sunken. Fully dressed, he lay flat on his back. One hand gripped the side of the bed. I wanted to run to him. Romez pushed my chair forward.

A smile. “Hallo, joey. Welcome home.”

I launched myself from the chair, staggered to his embrace.

“Don’t!”
Romez, too late.

I never touched him. My knee landed on the bed, to prop myself up, and the mattress swayed.

Fath went white. “I’m sor—”

Romez hauled me off. “Clumsy oaf! What did I tell you in the corridor?”

“Not to hurt …” I wasn’t quite sure, actually. I’d been too eager to get to Fath’s cabin.

“Not to go near him! If you had the brains God gave a gnat—”

“That’s quite enough.” Fath’s jaw was clenched. “Back to your duties, Doctor.”

“
You’re
my duty. How bad is it today? Much worse than you let on over the caller, I see. Let me examine you.”

“Not now.”

“We’ll up the painkillers. I’m increasing your dose—”

“Out of my cabin.”

“Two hundred milligrams, three times daily. And I’ll give them to you myself.”

“Did you hear me? Out.”

“Captain, you might even heal, if you give yourself time, but not unless you’re utterly relaxed. That won’t happen with your muscles tensed, anticipating the next twist of the knife.” Romez folded his arms.

Fath lifted himself on his arms. It took prodigious effort, though we practically floated off the deck in the lunar gravity. “OUT, OR YOU’RE CONFINED TO QUARTERS FOR A WEEK! Janey, the hatch!”

Dutifully, she keyed the control.

Romez made as if to speak, thought better of it. He snapped a salute, stalked out.

Ever so carefully, Fath eased himself down. His forehead was beaded with sweat. “Jesus, son of blessed Lord God.” His voice was ragged.

I stood like an idiot, wringing my hands. “What can I do? A cold washcloth? Adjust your bed? Call Mikhael?”

“Shhh. It’s all right.” His palm opened. He crooked a finger, beckoning me close. I slipped a hand into his, dared not squeeze. “How are you, son?”

“Fine.” Compared to Fath, it was true. “Bored.”

“Dr Romez said that in a week you’ll be more your old self. Up and about.”

“Sir, could I …” I swallowed. “… be ship’s boy again?”

“Not quite yet.”

“You promised!” I sounded spiteful, and was. What business had I hounding Fath, while he was in such pain?

“One-handed, you can’t handle the duties. In a few months, your new arm will be grown. And you’ll look a lot better without a sleeve pinned back.”

I said sullenly, “I didn’t want a prosth.”

“You’ll get one. I won’t have you sulking about.”

“It’s not that.”

“What, then?”

I didn’t want to tell him, and changed the subject. “Fath, why wouldn’t you let him give you a painkiller?”

“Perhaps I was a bit rough on old Romez. You’d think after two or three hundred years …” He spoke through clenched teeth “… they’d come up with something for pain that wasn’t a soporific. I don’t
want
them knocking me out.”

“Why not?”

His eyes flicked to the holoscreen set up beside the bed. “Harry’s on board.” For an instant, his eyes eased in a smile. “Yes, I’ve heard the nickname, and I approve. Anything that makes him seem less alien, less terrifying …”

“But if you’re stuck here …”

“Tad isn’t. I supervise, and make suggestions.”

I peered past him to the screen, which displayed the Level 2 corridor, where we’d devised our human/outrider interface. Our table, at the clear transplex barrier. The servo that drew our pictograph plates. At the moment, no one was about except our guards. The alien rolled slowly up and down its silent corridor. I shivered; outriders were hateful creatures.

“We’re making progress?”

Fath sounded glum. “Tad means well, and he does his best. But he hasn’t the knack.”

Carefully, I squeezed Fath’s hand. What thrilled me most wasn’t that he treated me as an adult, but that he knew, without asking, that I’d never repeat his words.

“Lie quietly,” I told him. “Get yourself well.”

With little more than a finger, Fath waved it away. “Dr Romez says you’re being difficult.” He put on a stern expression.

“I’ve nothing to do.”

“Then you’ll appreciate your schoolwork. You’ll start this afternoon.”