Children of Hope (57 page)

“Are you joking?” It just slipped out of me. After a moment I reddened under his scrutiny. “Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll memorize verses, as before.”

Almost, in my petulance, I kicked the bed, but I stopped myself just in time. Showing my annoyance was one thing, hurting Fath another. I cast around for an escape. “Fath, if I hadn’t asked for remission of enlistment, and I’d lose my arm as ship’s boy, would you beach me?” Beaching was how an officer was suspended, without being dismissed. But he’d know what I meant.

“No. An injured sailor stays in the ship’s company for the duration of the cruise. He’s assigned light duties.”

“Well, then.”

Fath raised an eyebrow.

“Put me on duty. It’s only a technicality; I resigned to rescue
you.
”

“Good argument, but no. Subject closed.”

I opened my mouth to object, set it aside. Fath was looking peaked. “If I get my work done, may I wander around? Go down to crew quarters, see joeys I know?”

“That’s fair.”

I beat a retreat.

Mr Branstead’s government survived. Scanlen remained at large, but Branstead made no move to rearrest him. Surely he’d be able to find the fugitive Bishop; Hope Nation’s settled areas weren’t all that large, and the acting Stadholder had his ear to the ground.

I badgered Dr Romez to let me return to our cabin. That is, Fath’s. As all of Level 1 was on light grav, the Doctor had little reason to keep me in sickbay. I think he was more worried I’d pester Fath, but after checking with him, Romez reluctantly agreed. I had to report to him every afternoon, without fail, for an examination of my biomech implants.

In a week, I’d be ready for a temporary prosth, a flexible alumalloy arm that would serve ’til my real one came out of the growth tanks. Grafting it would require surgery that I didn’t look forward to. I’d bear it, if I must. Restoration of my arm couldn’t possibly hurt as much as its removal.

Before I could move home to my familiar cot, though, Tolliver collared me. He set me against the bulkhead. “I owe you.” His tone held a warning.

“Why?” I didn’t owe him a “sir,” if I wasn’t ship’s boy.

“For talking me into taking that monster on board. For being a general nuisance. A loud one, pushy and insolent.”

I thought it best to say nothing.

“And so help me, if I find you’ve annoyed Captain Seafort, I’ll … By Lord God, if I had my way, you’d be banished to Level 6 ’til he’s recovered. Walk on eggshells around him, joey!”

“Yes, sir.” I couldn’t risk any other reply.

“See to it.” He stalked off.

I moved in with Fath, and for a while I felt better, but before long I was passing the time lying in my bunk thinking about Andrew Ghent. How gentle he’d been when he’d escorted me as prisoner. His risking all to sign a petition for my release. The quizzical look that crossed his face, when his life had been snuffed out. To be fair, I tried to remember Kevin as well.

Every night, I roused myself to eat in the upper Dining Hall, amid restless, impatient passengers. Daily, on the way to dinner, I passed signs for Reverend Pandeker’s prayer meetings.
Olympiad
was long delayed in her cruise to Kall’s Planet, and the disembarkation and reloading of passengers—to say nothing of a fish drifting not far from the portholes—had unsettled them all. Perhaps Pandeker’s blathering would ease their minds. I had no intention of attending; Lord God didn’t exist. Of that, I was pretty certain, though I wouldn’t say so to Fath.

Each night, after Reverend Pandeker gave the ship’s prayer, I struggled one-handed with my portion of vegetables and meat.

The older women at my table—in their thirties or even forties—offered in kindly fashion to help cut my food, and I tried not to be surly in my refusal. It was my task to handle my own meals, and I’d carry it out as best I could. If they disliked how I ate, they didn’t have to watch.

Afterward, unless Mikhael was off duty, I wandered back to my cabin, or looked in on Fath.

Truth to tell, I welcomed the schoolwork he’d assigned. I had so little to do that
any
diversion was a relief, even memorizing stupid Bible verses, and it gave Fath such pleasure to hear me say them well, I almost looked forward to the recitation.

Not tonight, though. Fath had wrenched his back getting dressed, and finally submitted to stronger painkillers. He lay asleep on his bunk, a med tech standing by. Fath had refused to go to sickbay; it was like him to dig in, and the consequences be damned.

I tiptoed to my own bed, lay down self-consciously, but couldn’t sleep under the tech’s gaze. I got up, slid the hatch open, drifted out.

It was bad enough learning to sleep near Fath. How could other joeykids accustom themselves to the wardroom, where four to eight middies were bunked? Years ago, Dad had told me of his childhood on Earth, where Grandpa Randolph had raised him as an Uppie. For a time Dad had found sleeping in public a terrible trial.

It didn’t seem to bother Mik.

Where was he, this evening? I checked his favorite lounge on Level 3, found it deserted. I sat a while, stared at bulkheads.

As ship’s boy, I’d been sent to the wardroom from time to time, to fetch and carry. Now, a civilian again, middy territory was off-limits, but I doubted anyone would object. And I felt a yearning for company.

I made my way down the corridor to the familiar hatch. It was open, but the two middies within saw only each other. I was on the verge of clearing my throat, decided not to.

“… sorry! I’ll do better, Mr Riev. I promise.” Tommy Yost’s voice sounded tearful.

I froze.

“You whiner!” The first middy’s tone dripped contempt. “What a sad excuse for an officer. We don’t ask much. Just walk down the corridor without accumulating demerits.”

“Ms Skor said I was slouching, but honest, I wasn’t—”

“I’ll believe her over you, any day.”

I grimaced. One grew used to hazing in the wardroom, Dad had said. But Mr Riev’s tone had an ugly bite.

“I’m sorry.” Yost sounded resigned.

“Yes, you’re a sorry affair. Not like Sutwin, or Tamarov.” A pause. “Or Ghent. Now, there’s one I’ll miss.”

A silence. “Sir, I swear I didn’t know the rebels could get through. I wouldn’t have seen Andy hurt for—”

“You deserted your post, you little shit. I’d trade you for him in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t—there’s nothing I … please!” The creak of furniture. “It was an accident! I didn’t know they’d—”

“
You’re
the accident, Yost. And you’ll pay, so help me. You’ll have a lovely cruise, I’ll see to that.”

“Excuse
me.
” Mik stood in the corridor behind me, hands on hips.

Riev stalked to the hatch. “What’s going on?”

Mikhael hesitated an instant. “Nothing, sir.”

Mr Riev shot me a withering glance. “A
civilian
has no business in this section, joey.” As if that wasn’t enough, he added, “And you’re not welcome in my wardroom.”

Mik frowned, but said nothing.

“Yes. Yes, sir.” I licked my lips.

“Don’t skulk about hatches, you colonial trannie.” To Mikhael, “In or out?”

“In, if you don’t mind.”

The hatch slid closed behind them, leaving me in the corridor fuming.

“B
ECAUSE I HAVE NO
one else to talk to.” I faced Corrine Sloan, eyes locked on the deck of her Level 5 cabin. “Fath’s sedated, Tad Anselm’s busy with the alien, and Mik …” I grimaced. His loyalty lay with the wardroom.

“What happened?”

I made myself tell her. Perhaps speaking as one outcast to another made it easier. Though, from my point of view, she was a hero, not an—

Her tone was dry. “Curiosity isn’t so terrible, Randy.”

“I was listening at the hatch.”

“An open hatch. If they’d wanted privacy … Do you seek pardon? I forgive you.”

“No, I want …” Bile flooded my throat, as I realized what I wanted. “Excuse me.” I made for the hatch. “I shouldn’t have come.”

A ship’s lounge is an awful place to sleep. The lights are too bright, joeys come in and turn on the holovid, and the seats aren’t comfortable. Not for hour after hour. And not when a long-dead face floats accusing in the dim light, until you rouse yourself and shout, “I never said I was as good as you!” And you gulp, because still the eyes burn into yours, and you say brokenly, “Please, Dad!” And you turn away, hoping to see it no more.

In the morning, ship’s time, just as I was steeling myself to do what had to be done, Alejandro, the ship’s boy, peered in. “
There
you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.”

I rubbed my face. “Why?”

“Cap’n said to find you.”

“Well, you did.” I knew I sounded sullen, but a night such as mine will do that.

“Better hurry. He didn’t sound real pleased.”

No, he wouldn’t.
“Soon as I wash my face.” I splashed water, one-handed, and made a rudimentary effort to comb my hair. By then, Alejandro had departed. Apparently, his instructions didn’t include escorting me back to quarters.

I trod my way upward, step growing lighter despite my darkening mood. Level 3, where I’d slept, was at full grav, but Fath’s cabin—all of Level 1—was set to Lunar Standard. Not our moons, of course. Luna, back in home system.

Outside the hatch, I took a deep breath. Almost, I knocked. No, I still lived there, at least for the moment. I slid open the hatch, took resolute steps.

Fath, wearing a faded robe, sat tensely in an easy chair, a caller by his side. His fingers gripped the armrests. His face was gray. He was alone, or had been so until I came in.

I took one look. “Is it bad?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you stay in bed?”

“Don’t tell me my business.” His tone was short. A flick of his head, toward my unused bunk. “You’re in trouble. Wandering the night—”

I said evenly, “I’m in more trouble than that.”

He closed his mouth, set aside what was no doubt a blistering rebuke. Then, “Tell me.”

“Didn’t Mikhael?” For a moment, I hoped he had. It would make it easier.

“I haven’t seen him of late. Get on with it, Randy. I’m not feeling …”

With perverse pride, I set myself before him, as I’d seen Andrew Ghent do, when reporting to the bridge for discipline. “I went to the wardroom. Two middies were talking. I listened. And you know what? If the hatch had been closed, I’d still have listened.”

He said, “You can’t know that.”

“I wanted to live up to Dad, and failed. I wanted you to be proud of me, and I c—c—can’t do that. I hate what I am. I’m not good enough for you, for
Olymp
—”

“I never said that.”

“I’m
saying it, Fath … Mr Seafort. I wanted to tell you before …”

His tone had no inflection. “Before what?”

“Going groundside. To annul the adoption. We’ve—you’ve—made an awful mistake.”

His eyes fell to the deck. Silence, that stretched eons. When he looked up, his eyes glistened. “I want more than anything to get out of this chair.”

To strike me down.

“To hold you tight, squeeze this nonsense out of you. But I can’t, son. I think if I let go of these armrests, if I let the chair hold my weight, I’ll pass out. So I’ll have to communicate with mere words. You’re my son and will stay so. No, don’t interrupt, that’s decided, and I’ve never had a moment’s regret.”

I turned away, thrust hands in pockets. “You know what I need? Rebalancing.”

He frowned. Hormone rebalancing was the therapy of last resort for insuperable emotional problems, and bore a well-deserved stigma. “Let’s not overreact—”

“Oh, Fath, can’t you see? Back home, I caused a rift between the Church and Anthony. Then I tried to kill you. I couldn’t stop Kevin’s panic when the alien came, and so he died. Outside the courthouse, I had a chance to save Anth, and blew it. How much more will you forgive?”

“Don’t, son. That’s not how—”

“I skulked outside the bridge listening to you and Mr Tolliver, and again in sickbay. I swore I wouldn’t but …” My fist beat my leg. “I can’t help doing vile things. Do you know, I was sneering at Andy Ghent the moment he was shot? And then, today. I mean, yesterday. Would Derek Carr have sneaked around listening at hatches?”

“Don’t berate yourself for—”

“Tell me!”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“But I did. That’s who I am!” My cheeks were damp.

Ever so carefully, Fath let go of the armrest, keyed the caller. “Dr Romez to the Captain’s cabin, flank.” He set it down.

“I mean it, about annulling the adoption. It was a fine gesture—a lovely gesture, Fath—but I’m not worth it and—”

“Son, don’t do this to yourself.”

“—even Mik despises me. You should have seen the look on his—”

The hatch flew open. Dr Romez burst in. “What—”

“—and I deserved it!”

“He needs a sedative. I’m afraid he may hurt himself.”

“I do not! You weren’t listening!”
It was a hoarse scream. “Get away from me!” I tried to evade Romez’s grasp.

“Easy, joey.” He fished in his bag.

“I don’t want to be calm, I want to face the truth! Why can’t you understand?”
I kicked and struggled, but Romez had my only arm. Something stung my shoulder.

Sobbing, hiccuping, dizzy, I let him guide me to my bed. Someone pulled off my shoes. I curled in a ball.

“I’m next.” Fath. “I surrender. I’ll take your deepsleep, but I need Anselm first.”

“Why, may I ask?”

“I won’t be lucid for a while.” Fath’s tone was grim. “I can’t go on like this. I’ll take to my bed and wait it out.”

I took a long, shuddering breath.

“If you’d done that when you came aboard, you might—”

“Doctor, for the love of God!” It was reprimand, plea, or both.

“Sorry, sir.” A grunt. “There. Ease back on the bed, if you can. I’ve got you.”

“Page Anselm.” Fath waited until Romez put down the caller. “What about, um, you know.”

“No need to lower your voice. Randy’s out cold. I’ll look after him.”

I gritted my teeth. I didn’t
want
looking after.

“No, what
about
him?”

“His outburst? Not unusual, in cases of profound depression.”