Children of Hope (67 page)

“Thank you.” Fath stood. “Midshipman Tamarov, my compliments to Dr Romez, and might he inquire whether Reverend Pandeker has been getting his medications.”

Mik’s eyes sparkled, and for a moment, his composure dissolved into a wide grin. Then he caught himself, and was sober. “Aye aye, sir.” A crisp salute.

“I take no med—” The import of Fath’s remark sank in, and Pandeker turned beet-red. “Good evening!” He stalked off, trailing the shreds of his dignity.

Mr Branstead said mildly, “So much for mending fences.”

“Quite so. Come along, young Randolph.” With what might have been good humor, Fath guided me toward the corridor.

Mikhael followed, his affable nature struggling to break through the ice of his rage. “Pa, so help me, if he says one word to my middies, I’ll proffer charges myself.”

Fath’s tone was reflective. “He must be feeling very sure of himself.”

“Did you hear me? I won’t let him get away with it!” We started up the ladder to Level 1.

“I heard you, Midshipman. One demerit.”

Mikhael said, “It so happens I’m off duty, sir.”

“Ah. Then in your personal capacity, I rebuke you.” But Fath didn’t sound annoyed. “I really dislike that joey. It’s almost a relief that we’re all taking sides, and I’m free to show it.”

“Someone ought to have a word with the master-at-arms.” Mik’s voice was stubborn.

“I doubt it will come to that.” Fath turned his scowl to me. “Now, young man. By what right do you discuss my affections at a table of strangers?”

“Mr Branstead’s no—”

“Randy.” A warning tone, if ever there was one.

“
Someone
had to ask her. It’s suicide to put herself in their hands.”

Mik said gruffly, “Don’t you think she knows?”

“Then why would she …”

“To save Pa.”

“Which I won’t allow,” said Fath, “if I have to lock her in her cabin. Your assistance wasn’t needed. A dozen extra verses tonight, after your session with Harry.”

“That’s not fair! I only—”

“Pardon?”

“Yessir.” Maybe it should have been “aye aye, sir.” I was too annoyed to care. All Mik gets is a rebuke; I get verses.

F
ATH PERSONALLY ATTENDED OUR
regular afternoon talks with Harry. Afterward, I asked how he would avoid Scanlen’s clutches if Admiral Kenzig relieved him, but he refused to discuss it. We had hot words on the subject. He did assure me that he wouldn’t consent to go ashore except by direct order. And if need be, he’d remind the Admiral of his medical condition; another liftoff would be a great trial. I looked at him strangely; if Scanlen got his hands on Fath, he need not concern himself with liftoff. But Fath merely patted me in that kindly, dismissive way that made me want to kick adults in the shins.

Fath was watching our evening session with the outrider on his cabin screen, so as not to strain his healing spine in full grav. Tonight, while Ms Frand had the watch, Lieutenant Skor was in charge at our table. She was never as easy to work with as Tad Anselm; I had to pay particular attention to my manner to avoid irritating her. I sighed. I suppose it was good practice.

Harry seemed jumpy. He barely tasted the drawings on our plates, and “I don’t understand” was his most frequent comment. The time came when he ignored our offering, drew one of his own.

An outrider and a one-armed human.

I stood, waved. “I’m here, boy.”

“Sit down.”
Fath’s voice was sharp, even through the speaker.

“Yes, sir. I wanted him to see me.”

“And if he burns through the barrier to see you better? Get permission first. Why are you so bloody impulsive?”

I flushed. “Anthony used to ask the same.”

“It’s why you scare Tolliver. Ms Skor, if this joey’s going to wave, you’d best stand back.”

“Gladly.” Lieutenant Skor retreated several steps, ready to slam shut the corridor safety hatch.

I pressed my face to the transplex. “It’s all right, Harry. I’m here.”

The outrider drew another plate. NO ONE-ARMED HUMAN, FEAR.

“Fath—I mean, sir—I’ll have to go in. He can’t read me from here.”

“No, it’s too dangerous.”

“We have to, sir. Look, he’s quivering. Don’t treat me like a child.”

Lieutenant Skor was apoplectic. She waved a warning finger, which I ignored.

A tired sigh.
“Very well, suit up.”

I said, “How would Harry tell humans apart inside a suit? Anyway, suits have two arms. I’ll just carry it along. He’s starting to skitter, sir.”

A muttered string of oaths, from the speaker.

“You frazzing—” Ms Skor bunched my collar, hauled me close. “Of all the times to provoke the Captain! I ought to toss you—”

“Why, ma’am?”

“Don’t you know?” Her brow wrinkled. “No, you’ve been here since—breathe a word of this and I’ll stuff you down the recycler!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Sarah Frand had the watch. Captain was in his cabin.” She grimaced. “Ms Sloan asked for passage to the Station and Frand agreed. Sent her immediately, with a sailor in the gig. Without asking Mr Seafort.”

“That bitch!”

Ms Skor eyed me sourly, but said nothing to contradict me.

“What about Corrine?”

“Station’s holding her ‘for clarification’; won’t send her groundside, won’t send her back. Get your suit.”

I did, hating it. But mostly my thoughts were on Ms Frand. Was it her religious convictions that led her to betray Fath? Did she hope to head off the demand for Fath’s resignation? I shrugged. It made no difference. She was beyond trust. And what of Corrine? Why had she left, without an agreement that would safeguard Fath?

Because Corrine knew Fath would never let her go, and seized her chance. No doubt she’d try to bargain from the Station, but would Colonel Kaminski send her groundside regardless? Anth had thought well of him, but …

I sighed. We all make our beds, and lie in them.

Fath gave his permission. I trudged down the corridor, hauling along a useless suit. I could just imagine asking Harry to wait until I climbed into it before decompressing us. TIME FIVE MINUTES. FOUR MINUTES EQUALS DEAD ONE-ARM.

I had to drag my suit up to Level 1, and down the next stairs, to get to the hatch at the other side of our corridor; at our end, the only way through was to take down the barrier.

Finally, in section three, which had been rigged for decontamination, I stood at the hatch. My shirt felt clammy, though I hadn’t run all that hard. Nerves. I wanted to see Harry, didn’t I? I’d volunteered. Yet some part of me prayed that the panel was broken, that the corridor hatch couldn’t be opened.

Easy, joey. You’re overtired. An hour or so, then the humiliating decon, and you’ll be in your bunk. No, first you have to memorize those frazzing verses. Perhaps Fath will relent. Yeah. Perhaps outriders wear skirts.

Silently, the hatch slid into its recess. I crossed into section four, trudged past the outrider’s nutrient tub. There he was, at the far barrier. I called, “Hallo, Harry.” Outriders had never responded to sounds; perhaps they couldn’t hear at all. But the sound was soothing, at least to me. I strode along the corridor. “Missed me, boy?” I dropped my awkward suit and waved. No response. To test the unfamiliar limb hanging from my shoulder, I waved my other arm as well.

As I approached, Harry skittered madly across the corridor from bulkhead to bulkhead. He absorbed Fath’s ruined clock, spewed it forth again. A pseudopod jabbed at the dial.

“Easy, joey.” My tone was soothing.

“Not too close, Mr Carr.” Lieutenant Skor, safe behind the barrier. I halted.

Harry drew a plate. OUTRIDER. ONE-ARM HUMAN.

I said, “Jess, write ‘yes.’”

The alien erased it. A new etching: OUTRIDER. NOT. TWO-ARMED HUMAN.

“‘Yes’ again, Jess.”

NO! Long after Harry had etched it, the plate smoked and sizzled. I felt the acrid scent of my fear.

In the speaker Fath said,
“Start backing away, son. Slowly, calmly.”

There was nothing I wanted more, but this had to be gotten over with. “In a minute, sir. Jess, write what he told us before. One-armed man and outrider. Add ‘now.’”

ONE-ARMED HUMAN NOT EQUAL TWO-ARMED HUMAN. OUTRIDER FEAR.

“Randy, go to the hatch!”
Fath’s voice was a lash.

I was the one in the corridor; it made me the best judge of the situation, and it was
my
life. I stamped my foot. “See why I disobey? Trust me, Fath!”

“The outrider’s upset. He might kill you.”

“Christ, don’t you think I realize that?” I edged closer. “Please?”

“Oh, God”
A long moment. Then,
“Get it done.”

“Jess, quick. ‘One-armed human equals two-armed. No fear.’” Another step. Harry quivered.

How could I make him under …

Of course.

I whirled about. Harry leaped aside. I launched into a manic dance, shaking every limb. For good measure I did my best to run up a bulkhead. Finally I ground to a halt, panting. “Got it, you stupid blob? It’s ME!”

Harry’s quivering eased. He approached me, rippling on those nonfeet, those temporary pseudopods we found so eerie.

Despite myself, I backpedaled into the bulkhead.

An appendage began to grow.

“Oh, shit.”

“Ms Skor.”
In the speaker, Fath’s voice was tense.
“Distract him! Make noise, flash the lights.”

“No, Fath, I mean, Captain!” My lips were dry. “Wait it out.” It was too late, anyway. If they startled Harry now, Lord God knew what he’d do.

“Sir?” Ms Skor.

“I don’t … all right.”

Harry edged closer. To my infinite relief, the appendage began to crust over, darkened to gunmetal-gray.

It touched my real arm.

I found my voice. In fact, I found myself babbling. “Jess, a new plate, hurry! ‘One-arm equals two-arm.’” Throw it at his feet.”

“Referent not understood. The being has no feet.”

“Don’t go glitched on me, you rusty bucket of chips! Draw it, and throw it on the deck as close to him as …”

Absently, his appendage still waving, Harry flowed over Jess’s new plate.

Suddenly Harry’s “hand” rasped across my belly to my other side. I flinched. It probed at my mechanical arm.

I tarped the plate hard with the toe of my boot. “One-arm equals two-arm.”

Harry flowed over the plate. Slowly, as if doubtfully, the appendage withdrew.

I sagged. “Thank you, God.” I might, at that moment, have meant it.

“That’s enough for tonight, Randy.”
Fath.

“Yes, sir.” I agreed wholeheartedly. As soon as Harry gave me room to edge clear …

A new appendage emerged from Harry’s ever-changing skin. Resigned, I waited for it to coat over.

It didn’t.

Harry seemed to flow upward. Inexorably, his acid appendage extended toward my torso. If it splattered me, I’d be dead.

I sucked in my stomach. “Fath, talk to me!” My lips were dry as desert sand, and my knees threatened to buckle.

“I’m proud of you.”

It helped, but not nearly enough.

Harry’s appendage shot out. It flowed across my prosth. The mechanical hand sizzled.

“NO!” I jerked back, but I had nowhere to go; I was already pressed tight to the bulkhead.

In my new arm, something shorted. I yelped. Of its own volition the prosth began to buck and twitch. Harry flowed backward. His appendage began to reabsorb. The pseudoflesh of my prosth dripped and sizzled. I tried to hold it away from me, but it no longer responded to commands. Awkwardly, I leaned to my left, desperate to keep acid and bubbling metal from running down my leg.

Harry flowed over a plate. ONE-ARM EQUALS ONE-ARM.

“Fath?” Clammy with sweat, my pulse racing, I giggled. I must be going into shock. “I don’t think he likes my prosth.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think—”

Alarms shrieked.

So did I. My heart pounded my ribs. My spittle flew.

“Battle Stations! All hands to Battle Stations! Captain to the bridge!”
Sarah Frand.

Outside the barrier, Ms Skor was already racing to the distant ladder, and her duty station abovedecks. Why the hell wasn’t her duty to protect
me?

“Randy, get out!”
Fath.

I cast a longing glance at the hatch, but Harry was too close. I’d never make it.

“All hands, all passengers to suits. Prepare to Repel Boarders! Prepare for decompression!”
Ms Frand reeled off commands.

I edged along the bulkhead. Finally I reached a porthole.

A dozen fish. More.

“Duty Stations, report!”

They jostled about, squirting propellant, nosing toward our fusion tubes. One was already extruding an appendage. Soon it would swing about, then break off. Its acid would eat through our hull.

“Pilot to the bridge!”
Fath, breathing heavily; he must have run all the way.
“Engine Room, emergency power to thrusters!”

I spun to Harry. “You b—b—bastards!” I pounded the bulkhead. “Why?” But he only watched impassively. “Jess, a plate! ‘Why war?’”

For a moment, I thought the puter wouldn’t respond, with
Olympiad
on full alert. Then a servo etched the plate.

“Sealing corridor hatches!”

NO WAR. OUTRIDER LIKE ONE-ARM.
Or perhaps it was,
OUTRIDER NO FEAR ONE-ARM
.

“Twelve fish war.”

Harry erased the plate.
NOT UNDERSTAND.

“Jess: ‘twelve fish war ship. Here, now.’”

“A moment.” The speaker went dead. The bridge must be making heavy demands on Jess’s resources.

“Priority circuit! Draw it now!”

A servo came to life, drew my plate. I hurled it at the outrider. He skittered aside. It fetched up against a bulkhead. After a moment’s quivering, Harry tasted.

And went berserk. He flew about the corridor, quivering, jerking this way and that. After a moment, he careened into the airlock.

I stalked after. “Yeah, run away, you sneaky oversize amoeba!”

Near the outer hatch, Harry remained still, as if waiting for the lock to cycle. It wouldn’t, of course. The inner hatch was still open.