Zorn’s glance flickered to me, and back, with something like compassion. “Aye aye, sir.”
I cleared my throat. “No.” It mustn’t be.
“He won’t bother you, son. He’ll just make sure—”
Tremulous, I came out of my seat. “Listen, Fath. Even if I start crying while I talk, hear me out!”
He checked his watch. “All right, but hurry.”
“You’re bigger than I, so I have to use words to persuade you. How can I make you understand you can’t leave me behind?”
“It’s only for a short—”
I flared, “You told me you hated a lie!”
His eyes closed briefly, as if he was in pain. “How would you know whether I lied?”
“Extra oxygen, on a launch used only as a ferry? The instructions you gave the puter, your tone of voice ...Father, please!”
“If I hid the truth, it was to protect you from hurt. Don’t assume from my precautions—”
“You see,” I said in a conversational tone, “I’ve earned my place with you. By what I’ve done, and failed to do. You think because you’re adult and I’m not, that I’m not as involved, not wholly committed. I can’t tell you how I know this, because I’m not sure myself, but ...” I fought to keep my voice steady. “If you don’t take me along, you’ll destroy me.
Silence.
“Sir, I must be part of it!”
“No.”
I shrieked, “I tried to be a man, even if it wasn’t my time! I took responsibility like you always taught! What more do you want of me?” I kicked the chair into the console. “So I need a psych sometimes and I’m weird. I did my best, my frazzing best!” My eyes streamed, burning my reddened cheeks. “I have to see it through, I’ve earned it! I HAVE TO!”
Thoughts whirled and swooped inside my skull, too quick to grasp. With bitter fury I wiped a sleeve across my face. Father valued self-control, and I’d just lost mine. When I wanted him most to take me seriously, I was bawling like a baby. Was it my exhausted body or my ragged emotions that betrayed me, that cost me the most important prize of my life?
The silence stretched, broken only by my sobs. “Mr. Zorn.” Father sounded forlorn. “Find a suit Philip’s size and store it on the launch.”
On the way to the launch berth I tried stumblingly to thank Fath for his gift. He cut short my effort. “Don’t be grateful for what I’m doing to you. You asked to be treated like a man. You get a man’s reward. Sometimes that’s a bitter pill.”
“Fath ...” As we passed through the launch bay lock, I tried to summon the words. “Are we coming back?”
“Perhaps not, son.”
I’d guessed as much.
At least Mom would know where I was. During the endless wait on Galactic’s bridge Fath left a message for her at the Tamarovs, that I was safe on the ship. She’d be enraged at where I’d gone, cold and unforgiving until the memories faded, but I knew she’d be glad her quest was done. Perhaps, if I survived, we might someday reconcile. It crossed my mind she might be irked that Fath allowed me to follow him, but I thrust such thoughts aside. Mom was strong and could deal with problems. It was Fath who was the fragile one. No, wait. Perhaps I was wrong about that, too.
We boarded the ship’s launch. I looked about. Seats for fourteen people. Only a rail separated the pilot from the main cabin. A transplex porthole stretched the width of the prow, in front of the pilot’s seat. In the distance, Earthport Station’s lights gleamed.
I looked for a bathroom, saw none. Aft was a hatch marked “Engine compartment.” I peered through. A crawl space, no more. Machinery, tubes.
“Stay out of there.” Father’s voice was sharp. “Strap yourself in. Sit with me, if you’d like.”
“Yes, sir.” I hurried to obey.
A hiss, as the launch bay doors slid open. That meant the berth was pumped to vacuum. Ever so gently, Father nudged the side thrusters, allowed the launch to drift clear of Galactic. My stomach churned as we floated free of the starship’s gravitrons.
Father sat back, adjusted the holocamera that was awkwardly strapped to an overhead grip. “Corwyn, comm test. How do I look?”
The puter’s voice filled our speakers. “Video signal from launch received. As instructed, I’m rebroadcasting your signal groundside.”
“Not yet, Corwyn. I’ll tell you when.”
“Aye aye, Captain. Program modified.”
Fath’s hands flew over the console keypad. Figures flashed on the screen.
“Sir?” I craned to see over his shoulder. “What—”
“Not now, I’m busy.”
I tried to remember when last he’d snapped at me, and couldn’t recall an occasion. Nor, for that matter, could I remember a time he’d slapped my face, before today. He was setting limits, drawing a line I wasn’t to cross. Unconsciously, I nodded. Part of me was bitter at relinquishing my recent freedom. The remainder felt relief.
He finished his calculations. “Let’s see, now.” He fingered the controls. I peered out the porthole. Our position relative to Galactic was changing ever so slowly. His eye on the puter readouts, he tapped the thrusters to make minute corrections. At last, he grunted. “That should do it. Corwyn, a message, on all preset frequencies. ‘Standby. Broadcast commences in two minutes. Please transmit live to all network feeds.’”
“Sir, will you warn them, so they can suit up?” I knew Fath’s plan was necessary, but the cold-bloodedness of it troubled me.
“Who, son?”
“The men at the laser cannon, before you ram.”
“Good heavens. Is that what you thought?” He tousled my hair. “Don’t make a sound while I broadcast. Not even a cough.”
“No, sir.” I stared at the screenful of calculations, at Galactic receding ever so slowly, at the vast bulk of the Station. What could his plan be, if not what I’d assumed? Objectively speaking, I was the smartest joeykid I knew. Surely I could figure it out.
“How’s my hair? Is my tie straight?”
I gaped. Father detested interviews, and didn’t give Lord God’s damn how he appeared in the media. Perhaps it was his very reluctance that made them chase him so, made the high walls of our compound necessary. Dumbly, I nodded.
“Very well, then.” He took a deep breath, flicked on the holocamera.
“Good morning. I am Captain Nicholas Seafort. Some of you know me as the former Secretary-General, but by direction of Admiralty I have been restored to my Naval rank and now command U.N.S. Galactic in orbit over the equator.”
His voice was crisp and firm, his palms steady on the flat of the console.
“From here, our planet appears blue and tranquil. But you and I know it is not. In Lower New York, citizens have rebelled against the government of Lord God. They’ve razed towers, attacked and overrun U.N.A.F. patrols. This is reprehensible, and a sin.
“Understand, though, that their despair was triggered by relentless and increasing thirst. You see, through the Hudson Freshwater Project we denied them the water of life. They were beginning to die.”
I hardly dared breathe.
“Our response to the uprising was brutal beyond any moral justification. Thousands of refugees were deliberately gassed in the city’s abandoned tunnels. Censorship has not permitted news of their extermination to reach you.
“In desperation, the transpops struck back. They breached the New York Seawall. They intensified their assault on our puter security. They even, in a stroke of genius, caused U.N. forces to fire on themselves.
“In a mad spiral, the reprisals escalate. By government order, Earthport Station’s laser cannon, ostensibly installed solely to safeguard U.N. Headquarters, are roasting transpop families in their hovels, while U.N.A.F.’s pinpoint targeting spares the luxurious towers in which our Uppie culture thrives.”
Slowly, my hand slipped across, below the level of the camera, to wrap itself in his.
“Even as I speak, citizens of the United Nations are dying by the thousands und
er the remorseless glare of the lasers. It is the Administration’s avowed intention to clear the streets of transpops, their shabby buildings, and their culture.”
“This is an abomination. This is genocide.” Father leaned forward. “You and I, together, must intervene to restore sanity and civil order.”
I stared openmouthed at a man I’d never known. No wonder that rebels at Hope Nation had quailed, a legion of brave cadets sailed to their deaths at his bidding.
“I will not under any circumstances utilize the weapons of U.N.S. Galactic. That leaves only the force of our moral indignation.”
Silently, I began to weep. Father gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Galactic floats some four kilometers off Earthport Station. I speak to you from the pilot’s seat of her launch. Earthport is in geosynch orbit; its laser cannon have a continuous opportunity of fire upon the defenseless city. Here, less than four kilometers distant, I can see the orange glow of the lasers’ warning beams, cautioning ships to avoid the deadly shafts of invisible light.”
Father gazed serenely at the camera.
“I have set our fragile launch in motion. Our velocity is exactly two kilometers per hour. I shall not alter course.
“At precisely 9:47:00 A.M. eastern time—” My glanced flicked to the console: a hundred two minutes from now—“we will traverse the first of Earthport’s lasers, at a distance of one hundred fifty meters. If the cannon are firing, our launch will be annihilated, and I with it.”
My breath caught. The sweat of desperate fear drenched my shirt. But I felt a stir of wonder, a pride that Lord God could allow me to witness such an act.
“I can only believe that Mr. SecGen Kahn, busy in London, has not been apprised of the full situation. That it is some nameless subordinates, acting without his express authority, who have perpetrated the obscene rain of death on our principal city. I was unable to reach him when I visited the areas of destruction. Certainly as a moral man, he must be unaware of atrocities performed in his name, or he would act to stop them.”
Fath cleared his throat. “In what time remains, I shall work to arrange a truce. If one is achieved, I shall return to Galactic and surrender my command. But if the lasers merely cease their fire when I obstruct their target, without our effecting a full military truce, I shall brake the launch so that she remains in front of the cannon until our air supplies are exhausted. Then I shall aim our vessel at Earth’s atmosphere, fire our thrusters, and commence my final voyage home.”
He paused. “In either event, I ask that you consider my acts a protest against the inhumanity that government—my own Administration no less than the current—has shown to its homeless masses.
“You see, we knew better. The transpop tribes are joeys who might have been you. They live in hopeless misery, and that has made them hard. It has not made them less than human.
“Now.” Father straightened, and his voice became brisk. “There’s little time. If you find this state of affairs abhorrent, go to your callers. Call every agency of government, local, state, national, and global. Call Mr. Kahn. Wake your friends in other time zones. Call your news providers, your local holo stations, the station that sends you this broadcast. Call your local military bases. Call Earthport. Call your family. Don’t stop calling until the issue is decided.
“I will not tell you what to say. With Lord God’s grace, you will perceive your moral obligation. Aboard Galactic’s launch, I await your decision.
“This is Nicholas Ewing Seafort, near Earthport Orbiting Station, signing off.” For a lingering moment, he gazed at the holocamera, then raised his hand and flipped the switch.
I sobbed.
“Now the hard part. Steady, P.T., it’s not over yet.”
“Will they stop firing?”
“Possibly. More likely not.”
“Do we just ... wait?”
“No, I’ve work to do. Would you care to help?”
“Oh, please yes!”
“Let’s get into our suits. Then I’ll need help at the comm lines.” He unstrapped, swung from handhold to handhold until he reached the rack. He took down my three-quarter suit, helped me climb into it. He adjusted the clamps. “See this green light? Yellow is a warning; you’re down to fifteen minutes of air. Red means to change tanks immediately.”
“Yes, sir. The cabin is aired; why do we need—”
“Because I said so.” The edge in his voice was the only hint of the strain he must have felt. Ashamed, I helped him secure my suit. He put on his own, but left off the helmet. When he spoke, his voice was more gentle. “I don’t think Earthport will fire on us—their defensive lasers, I mean—but if I’m wrong and we decompress ...”
“What about you?” I tried not to sound insolent.
“Don’t argue, son.” It avoided the issue, but I let it be. Fath was already under enough pressure.
We settled back at the console. In the porthole, Galactic had receded appreciably.
Briefly, Father explained the comm switches, showed me the list of frequencies, how to select, how to scan. “All right, let’s listen in.” He guided my hand over the keys.
“—astounding announcement by former SecGen—”
“—said he would offer himself as sacrifice should a truce not be arranged. Captain Seafort appeared calm, though his voice held a tinge of urgency which, considering the situation, was—”
“Marion Leeson, advisor to SecGen Kahn, said the Administration would not comment until Mr. Kahn studied the full text of—”
United Commlinks and WBC were rerunning Father’s address. It was odd to flip frequencies back and forth, listen to different moments of his speech.
“Good.” Father switched off the screen. “Let’s get to work.”
A comm light glowed. I stared.
“Well?” Fath sounded mildly impatient. “Aren’t you my comm tech?”
“Yes, sir!” I keyed the switch.
“Seafort!” Admiral Thorne. “Have you gone glitched? Return to Galactic while there’s still time. You made your point; Kahn must be frothing at the mouth. You’ve focused—”
“Sir, I’m rather busy. Please don’t gabble.”
“Gabble?” I could picture Thorne’s face going red. “GABBLE? For Christ’s—” I could almost hear what it cost to bring himself under control. “You lunatic, end this for the love of—”
“Of God. That’s what it’s about, Jeff. A token effort at redemption. He has much to forgive me.” Father’s tone turned brisk. “Will you help? Hold your fire, while we work out a truce.”
“I can’t.” Thorne sounded agonized. “You know that.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m the one who must. Any new instructions? Are you in touch with the Rotunda?”
“A secure open line, manned at this end by Ed Wilkes. We’ve got Marion Leeson standing by. You caught Kahn’s security advisors with their pants down. They’re setting up a link.”
“I’d deem it a favor if you’d keep me advised.”
“I—” His voice softened. “Of course, Nick.”
“Could I talk to Robbie?”
“He’s on his way groundside to meet Senator Boland at Ruben’s HQ. Rob’s furious with you.”
“I’d expect.”
“And with himself, I’d guess.” A sigh. “Keep this frequency open, if you would.”
“It’s yours,” Fath said. “If you talk to Kahn, tell him the deal must include a full pardon for everyone involved: streeters, U.N.A.F, Hackers, civilians. All but me.” He gestured, and I broke the connection. “P.T., line up our incoming calls, but don’t identify yourself, no matter who asks. Voice only; I’m done with that bloody camera.”
“Yes, sir.”
I keyed the comm lines to my suit radio. “United Commlinks newsdesk to Galactic for Seafort, please respon—”
“United Commlinks, Fath?”
“No.”
“—tell him that it’s Holoday Syndicate; we want an immediate interview, we’ll p
ay—”
“Captain Seafort, this is Edgar Tolliver, I’ve been asked to contact you, if you hear this, please—”
“Earthport Traffic Control to Galactic launch, you are in prohibited space, confirm immediately and—”
“Nick, this is Senator Richard Boland; pick up the goddamn caller! Why won’t he answer? Seafort, this is—”
“Mr. Boland’s father on frequency eight.”
“Yes.” I keyed Fath’s caller.
“Seafort.”
“Thank God. Who’s that with you?”
“A joey from the ship. What do you want?”
“Nick, we’ve known each other, what, twenty-five years? Too long to play games. What will you settle for?”
While Fath spoke, I ran the gamut of frequencies, whispering at callers to wait or try later, trying to hear the conversation while I fended off his suitors.
“Just what I told you. No more, no—”
Boland said, “Ruben can’t call it off without Kahn’s approval, and damn it, you backed the SecGen into a corner. His dander’s up. Let me find a face-saver so—”
“A cease-fire and truce. Pardon for the participants. Time’s running out, Richard.”
“You stubborn—that’s exactly what cost you the Rotunda!”
“Call me back when you’ve made progress.” To me, “Next?”
“Earthport Traffic Control. Senator Rex Fizer. Old Admiral Duhaney; isn’t he retired? Marion Leeson. Newswo—
“Yes.”
I jabbed the keypad. “Ms. Leeson, here’s Captain Seafort.”
“Mr. SecGen? How in hell did you reenlist? That’s political, it should have gone to ... never mind, no time. This call is strictly unofficial, you understand; the SecGen—I mean SecGen Kahn—has no personal knowledge of our—”
“Get on with it!” Father’s tone was cold.
“Why couldn’t you throw your tantrum at a reasonable—all right, don’t cut me off.” She paused, as if to regroup. “If I can talk him into a cease-fire, long enough to get you out of—”
“No.”
“I’m not even sure he’d listen. He blistered my ear when I woke him for your broadcast. He can be obstinate when—” She broke off. “Look, I’m doing my best, we’re all a bit tense. You’re a professional; we want to know what deal you’ll make. The trannies have to be suppressed; that’s our bottom line. As to the mechanics—”
Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5) Page 52
