Hope (Nadyozhda)

by Wil C. Fry

  Wilson, my old friend whom I didn't have time to have a reunion with just then, saw Cochran heading for the chair, stood quickly, and headed around the desk to one of the two chairs. I took the other one. As I sat down, I looked back at the open door, wondering whether or not anyone outside could hear me.

  "For crying out loud," Cochran muttered, and touched a button on his desk. The soundproof door slid into place, leaving the three of us in seclusion. I felt a little more secure.

  "Sorry, Cap'n, it's jest - well.... Are you aware that they's a feller on board our boat who's got no file?"

  Cochran's eyebrows shot up and a very worried expression clouded his face. That was the expression I was hoping I would cause with this piece of news. Wilson looked back and forth between the Captain and me.

  "That's the goddamn truth, Cap'n. I got a Mr. Forrest Harmon in my farm who's got no file in our computer."

  Then Cochran made an expression I did not expect at all. His eyebrows went back to their normal positions, and he laughed. "Oh, well, I thought you meant.... well, never mind." He suddenly grew serious again. "And so what's the problem, Mr. Davidson? Is Mr. Harmon causing you any trouble?"

  "Well, no sir, uh, he seems to be a mighty fine feller, but I thought that all of our shipmates was in that there Em-See-See, and that each chief was ta be permitted to check 'em out, if need be."

  "Well, you see, Mr. Davidson, I believe that this Mister, uh, Harmon was substituted at the last minute for one of our single men who became sick just before launch. As I understood, deathly ill. If his file was not uploaded, we'll just have to deal with the situation. Why don't you ask your new friend about the information you need to satisfy your curiosity. If his answers are not satisfactory, you can send him to see me, immediately. Understood?"

  Actually, I felt as if I'd been brushed off, but apparently it was a successful brush-off, because I answered, "Of course, Cap'n. Sorry I bothered you."

  "Forgotten."

  I got up to leave, and the door slid open. Suddenly Robert Wilson jumped to his feet and held my arm. "Just a sec, Harley! Captain Cochran, if you will excuse me, sir. There wouldn't have been a problem with uploading. As you know, all the files for all alternate selections were already in the M.C.C."

  Cochran inhaled sharply, and pushed the door control button again. It slid shut, and I turned around, to face the two Captains. Cochran breathed once, deeply and slowly, then said in a quiet voice, "If I say that this problem is not a serious problem, then it becomes a minor problem, therefore one to which my attention need not be called. Am I clear, gentlemen?"

  Robert and I answered together, "As a bell, sir!"

  IV - Yet Another Chapter

  (Petr)

  For those who think that the Chaplain of a starship crew doesn't have much to do, I have a few words. Not only were there many people who were very emotionally disturbed about the whole idea, and many people with religious problems, which took up much of my time as we drew closer to Banard's Star System, I had many other jobs. I cooked, cleaned, sorted supplies in the cargo hold, exercised, loaded scouting shuttles, farmed, and even prayed for someone's personal computer.

  And for those who believe the history books when they tell of our busy weeks just before arriving in orbit around BS-3, I have a few words. Those weeks were no busier than any of the other weeks. The schedule that was set for us by the Committee For Colonization regulated our lives steadily through the hand of Manuel Ortega. Our "Governor" handed out duty lists predictably every morning; usually they were on our desks or PC screens in the mornings. I don't know how he did it, but he kept us in a fair state of organization, and no one went without work.

  Except for Scott Hayford. Yes, we found out about him. Two weeks after we woke up, in mid-November, Captain Cochran told us about our stowaway in one of our normal meetings. Apparently, he had known about it the whole time, and just wasn't sure how to break it to us that we had 501 colonists aboard, instead of 500. We had been a little surprised.

  Mr. Davidson interjected, "Cap'n, if yer sayin' that somebody jest went an' stole our ship, ah don' think ah understand correct."

  "Look, Davidson, there's no way he could have stolen the ship. The M.C.C., whom he calls 'Hope', is completely aware of her mission, and has no choice but to carry it out. But Mister Hayford had made friends with her while the programming was going on, and she begged him to come along."

  Dr. Massaan asked, after smiling whitely, "Am I correct in assuming that this Mister Hayford has lived on our ship for one hundred and fifty years, while we all slept?"

  "Yes, Doctor, that is what happened. He was given the longevity treatment by Hope, although occasionally, he slept."

  Massaan spoke again, "Do you mean he was in cryostasis? There were only five hundred tanks." He had not smiled before saying this, so I knew that he did not always smile before talking.

  "Look, Doctor - everyone, a lot of things happened while we were in cryostasis. Marie here" - she had been sitting quietly this whole time, having known in advance that Cochran was about to release this information - "married Scott just before we left, after she was made aware that he was to stowaway. Just after our departure from the Sol System, he underwent the longevity treatment, and then got to work having Hope build him another 'sleep tank.' She did so, from materials within our cargo bays, so he could extend his life span for years to come. While he was awake, he occasionally woke Marie, to keep him company, and they used our hydroponics department so they would not use too many of our supplies. Only limited parts of the ship were pressurized during this time, and everything possible was recycled.

  "According to the now extinct 'Terran Space Code', Scott Hayford could be tried as a pirate, a thief - not only for the ship, but for the supplies he used while living here - and for treason."

  At this, I noticed Marie perk up. "Treason, Captain? I think not."

  Sternly, he raised his hand and she quieted. "Yes, Marie, Treason. We were sent to establish a new and completely independent planetary government, and his presence here makes that difficult. But as I was saying, he could be tried for these crimes. What I propose is this: Since he and Marie and Hope recycled everything they could, and since they outfitted our scouting probes with the new a-grav drive, and even saved the seeds from the plants they grew, Scott should be abdicated of these charges, and made a temporary member of our crew.

  "Wait until I'm finished! Upon reaching a habitable planet, Scott will be sent away from our colony into exile, as soon as we can afford to give him a few weeks worth of supplies and a small land rover. Marie will be given the choice of joining him or divorcing him and staying with us."

  They had argued and argued while I kept my mouth shut. Finally Captain Cochran had persuaded everyone to accept his plan, and they announced his presence to the rest of the crew. That was a mistake. For days, we could not get anything accomplished because many people were constantly crowding the forward passageways, trying to get in touch with Cochran, to express their opinions. He had not given them a chance, since he stayed shut up in his office until they went away.

  Forrest Harmon's prime talent had been revealed during that time: crowd control. The Captain had authorized him to use "whatever force necessary" to clear the passageways and restore order. He had recruited help.

  I heard the buzzer go off at the cabin door and instantly awoke from a sound sleep. The clock on the PC screen showed that it was 01:27. I stretched mightily, not even disturbing my soundly sleeping wife. I climbed out of the bunk, and pushed the button to unlock the door; it slid open.

  Filling the doorway was my breakfast companion, Forrest Harmon. "What can I do for you," I queried, sleepily.

  "Well, I need to know, Petr, do you have any military experience?"

  "Huh?" His question startled me. It is not something I'm normally asked as a minister, unless a soldier is trying to help me understand his or her particular circumstance. "Well, yes. Why do you ask?"

  He looked down for a second, the
n his eyes met mine. Cold, dark brown eyes. "I need your help. Mister Davidson told me to shove off, as he doesn't like me for some reason. Yours was the next door on the hall, and you've always seemed very athletic; quick reactions, strong for your size, cool-headed. There are people all up in the forward hall, blocking the Captain's office. He said he would've called me sooner, but he thought they would go away. Now some people from the other crews are up there complaining."

  "About what?"

  "Huh? Oh, surely you know. Scott Hayford."

  I was flabbergasted. I thought the Captain's decision had been right, and that everyone would simply accept it. Now it seemed we were headed for mutiny. Quickly, Forrest explained to me that some people were upset about their rations being eaten, their supplies being used, and their unique status being betrayed by an outsider who had not been selected for this mission. And when the critical mass of complainers had been reached, an uproar had resulted. No one was sure what anyone was saying, but they were all saying it loudly, and profanely.

  "And Mr. Davidson told you that he would not come?"

  "That's right, Rev'rend."

  Seconds later, with my jumpsuit on, I was buzzing at Mr. Davidson's door. Perhaps a Chaplain should not behave in this way, but I really was not thinking about it.

  When he opened the door, I let him have it. "For the love of God, Mr. Davidson! Our Captain is being attacked on all sides for making the best possible decision under the circumstances, and you want your beauty rest? You should be ashamed of yourself! Here I am, a man of God, with a mission to save men's souls, and I'm going to do my duty to the ship. How can you have respect for yourself, lounging in the bunk like that..."

  After a few minutes, he came with us, looking a little sheepish.

  Cochran made an announcement over the P.A. telling everyone that Forrest was his representative in this matter and that he was behind Forrest's activities. This did not help much, but Forrest's loud voice did. When he finally got their attention, he bellowed, "Now listen to me, everyone! If you have a complaint, file it in the proper file on your PC, and it will be read. For now, you must stand by the Captain's decision. Now clear this hall!"

  One man, about my height, but thicker, faced Forrest. "Wait a minute, mister. If you think I'm gonna listen to you just because you're bigger than me-"

  He quickly became quiet, mostly because the edge of Forrest's hand had connected with the side of his neck. As the man went limp, Davidson and I stepped forward and caught him, lowering him easily to the deck.

  "All right! Anyone else got a complaint?" One woman started to speak, thought better of it, and walked past us, toward the living quarters. The others followed, one by one. Mr. Davidson and I waited until they were all gone, and turned to Forrest.

  He said, "Hang on a minute, boys," and stepped to the Captain's office door. It slid open, and Cochran came out.

  "Well, boss, can we go back to sleep now?"

  Cochran looked at us, then turned back to Forrest. "I thought I said to get Mr. Davidson here. Where did the Pastor come from?"

  Forrest and I started to speak at the same time, but Davidson overrode us. "Cap'n, let me explain. Ah was bein' a tad lazy, so Forrest had ta git the rev'ren' here ta he'p 'im. But rev'ren' here says ta stop by mah door, an' wake me up. Well, through a little sermonette, he convinced me o' mah duty. Mah apologies, sir."

  "Hmmm," Cochran said, then looked at the man on the floor. "What happened here?"

  This time I got to answer. "James, the man was behaving in a mutinous fashion. Mister Harmon was forced by the circumstances to defend himself and reestablish order in the ship. Should we take him to the clinic?"

  Forrest said quietly, "He'll be all right. Just pop him into his cabin, and leave a couple of painkillers on his desk. Tell his wife not to worry. Just have her keep him from doing anything crazy."

  "Where's 'is cabin?" Davidson wanted to know.

  "Crew number two, cabin 217, last name of Gallagher," Forrest answered quickly.

  I looked up sharply at him, but kept my mouth closed. This incident helped me to see what I had suspected days earlier. When I had noticed how well they knew each other that day at breakfast, and when Davidson had come to me a few days later, telling me that Harmon had no file, I had been suspicious. What this man knew about mineralogy, I do not know, but he was definitely part of a bigger picture. The only way to know by looking at a man what his cabin number is, is to know him. I assumed at that point that Forrest Harmon had studied every file on the ship and knew all about all of us. Well, it made me feel a little more safe.

  Davidson apparently did not suspect anything by this quick answer, although he might think about it later. He hefted Gallagher onto his shoulder and walked aft toward the cabin areas.

  I turned to the Captain. "James, sir, I understand my commitment to my faith and my position here in the ship, and the respect my position holds. However, that in no way conflicts with my ultimate duty to my Captain. Sir, if you are ever in danger, or if the ship is ever in danger, please to do not fail to consider me. I have more skills than just 'throwin' tahgedder a good surmun.'"

  He grinned. "I know, Pastor, but of course you can see what a mob we had here, and I wanted the biggest, strongest friends I could muster."

  "Of course, Captain, yet surely you can see the advantage of having the Chaplain publicly and visibly on your side?"

  He nodded, and turned to Forrest. "You made a good choice." Turning back to me, he added, "Petr, I understand that you had some military experience?"

  I blushed, which I do not do very often. "Well, that's what I told Forrest here. Actually, I was just a member of the Armstrong militia for two years, which paid my way through the seminary on board the station. No actual battle or conflict experience."

  "Hmm," he said again. "If I remember correctly, Armstrong teaches their militia recruits judo, and zero-g aikido. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, sir, it is. Of course, it also came with the training about the sacredness of such knowledge, and the proper environment for its use. I've never had to use it outside the gym except for once, when some poor lug tried to mug me in Section 8, about six years before we launched."

  "What happened to him?" Forrest asked.

  "Eh? Oh, the mugger? Well, I'm not sure. I was never too aware of the Armstrong hospital system's ability to reattach a person's limbs."

  It soon became known around the ship that Forrest Harmon was the Captain's "Sergeant-at-Arms" or Bodyguard, or Chief of Police, or something. Some people resented the fact that they were forced to obey this "brute", but most acquiesced. But no one liked Scott Hayford. It was hard for me to understand, because the few times I met him, he seemed like a soft-spoken, intelligent, and very capable man. I guess it is true that your sins will find you out.

  Then, he refused to work. Governor Ortega had sent a work schedule through the M.C.C. to Scott's cabin - not on the blueprints - but Scott wouldn't show up for work. He usually ate in his cabin, as he had during the long trip, only occasionally making an appearance in the dining rooms. Mr. Davidson reported that he had never shown up for work at the farm, nor for exercises. Mr. Gallagher, who happened to be a shuttle pilot, was also in charge of the cargo bay areas and never saw Scott there, either, where he was supposed to help with inventory. Even Marie stated that he wasn't really helping the mission when he talked to Hope, either. She had come to Cochran's office one day, and complained, saying now that Scott's presence was common knowledge, he had become depressed, angry, bitter, and a lot of other emotions common to people who are rejected by every single human within six-light years.

  So, the Captain called me, and I showed up at his office, noticing that Forrest and Mr. Davidson were already there. The inner door slid open, and the three of us went in. The Captain was standing behind his desk, and just behind him, the small-arms locker was standing open.

  Before any of us could say anything, Cochran spoke, "Gentlemen, if you don't agree with what I'm about to say, please wa
it until I'm finished, then return to your cabin. We've got a situation here that is similar to many I've faced before. One man, who refuses to obey orders, who refuses to pull his fair share of duty, but still wants the privileges of being on the crew. Well, it won't happen, not under my command. Is that clear?"

  We nodded in unison, "Yes, sir."

  "Okay. I had decided to let Scott work with us for the remainder of our flight, and then as soon as possible, send him away from our colony into exile. Well, now he doesn't even want to experience the best part of his deal. So I'm going to settle this once and for all. Let's go."

  None of us went back to our cabins. He stood up and turned to the small-arms locker, and held up a Nelson Stun gun. "Mr. Davidson, do you know how to use one of these?"

  "Yessir!"

  Cochran handed the weapon and its holster to the ex-fullback, who quickly strapped it on. Cochran looked at me next, so I said, "If my hands and feet are not adequate, then I have no place here."