Children of Hope

by David Feintuch

  I sat, chin in hands, brooding on what we’d found. Rather, what we hadn’t found.

  There was no warning pasted across my net profile, no cross-ref to a missing child alert. Nothing.

  It had me puzzled. At the very least, Anthony ought to have posted a please-notify. It would be only a nominal effort to find me, one I could easily avoid by not schussing in my regular tracks. But it would show token compliance with Church demands, and avoid trouble with the Bishop.

  On the other hand, what would Anthony’s refusal to seek me out signify? He wasn’t obligated, either as Stadholder or parent-by-proxy, to stop me from visiting the city. On the other hand, if I was truly a wayward youth, then as a parent he was responsible for my depredations, and had the obligation to bring me under control.

  On the other hand—we were running out of hands—my mother, Sandra, was my actual guardian. Ultimately, unless Anth asserted real control over me, he had no legal obligation either to make me behave or to hand me to the Church for spiritual correction. Yet, I doubted he’d resort to such a mealy-mouthed defense; he was raising me, and proud of it.

  If only I could ask Anthony what he’d have me do. But I didn’t dare use the caller or post a netnote. Not only might he trace me and, worse, force me home, but his answer would close off options he might want preserved.

  Kevin caught his breath. “Holy shit, look!”

  I swung round, a chill lancing my spine. If Anth had—

  “Kevin!”

  “Dad, they’ve—”

  “Kevin!” Mr Dakko’s holovid tumbled to the floor.

  “What did—oops. Sorry, sir.”

  “Turn that off.”

  “I didn’t mean to talk—”

  He was out of his chair. “Switch it off. To your room.”

  “Yessir.” Kev’s holovid went dark. To me, a helpless shrug. He padded toward his room.

  “Just a moment.” His father’s tone was firm. “Do you recall the last time you used foul language?”

  “Yes, sir.” Kev’s voice was small.

  “What did I do?”

  A glance of dismay. “Dad, Randy’s here.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You washed out my mouth.” Kevin’s face was crimson.

  “Shall we do it again?”

  “No, sir, I’ll watch myself. Honest.”

  “Very well.”

  Kevin disappeared.

  The atmosphere was like ice. My closest friend had been humiliated before me, and I doubted I’d forgive.

  After a time, Mr Dakko cleared his throat. “Believe me, I heard worse in the Navy.”

  Politely, I smiled, hoping I wasn’t betraying Kev.

  “And I used worse.” He bent to retrieve his holovid. “I told you I was on Challenger and Hibernia?”

  “You didn’t mention the ships.” What had Kevin found that excited him so? I’d slip into his room and ask, before bed. Mr Dakko hadn’t forbidden it. And if it concerned me, I needed to know.

  “With my father. I thought I was grown, and tried to act it.” A pause. “Like Kevin.”

  I stared at the fabric of my chair.

  “Walter—my father—didn’t do much to take me in hand, though Lord God knew I needed it. Slowly, in the derelict ship, civilization collapsed around us. Then Walter showed a steel I didn’t know was in him.”

  What was he trying to tell me?

  “I won’t make Kev wait that long. So I’m strict. Not unduly so.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.” I couldn’t help myself.

  “Yours differs?” His tone was dry.

  “It’s not like he meant to be rude. He was excited.”

  “About what?”

  “Who knows? You wouldn’t let him tell you.”

  “Language counts, you know.”

  “Yes, but …” I sighed. “It’s kinda dumb, my having an opinion. Look what my language started.”

  A chuckle.

  After a long silence, “Ask him to rejoin us, Randy. Tell him you successfully pleaded his case.”

  Moments later, Kev cautiously seated himself near his father. It was the elder Dakko who got up, enveloped his son in a fierce embrace.

  “So, then.” Mr Dakko rearranged himself on his sofa. “What was it you found?”

  “A ship’s coming in!” Kevin’s eyes sparkled.

  “Whoa.” Mr Dakko’s face relaxed into a grin. “When?”

  “It’ll dock late tonight. Pa, can we go up and watch?”

  “I doubt there’ll be room on the shuttle.” Of course there’d be one lifting off, crowded with customs and immigration officials, Naval brass and curious dignitaries anxious for a first look.

  “You always say that. If you called Thurmon Branstead …”

  “No, sorry.” A pause. “I have valuable connections, Kev. I don’t like using them for personal favors. When you run the business you’ll understand.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kevin’s disappointment was evident. So was mine. Ships came in so seldom—rarely more than two a year. The ore and grain barges didn’t count.

  “Its likely I can arrange a tour, though. After all, we’re chandlers to the Navy. Would you like that?”

  “Megazark!”

  “Did you notice what ship?”

  “The new one. Olympiad.”

  “Ahh.” Mr Dakko’s fingers drummed. “Good business there. She’s colossal. Three thousand passengers, eight hundred crew.”

  I shook my head, trying to imagine a vessel that vast. “Could we go to the port for the zoo?” I really oughtn’t to be seen in public, but in an excited crowd …

  “Yeah!” Kevin’s face lit.

  After a moment Mr Dakko said, “Why not? People rarely make such fools of themselves.”

  Years ago, when he was Stadholder, Dad had growled that disembarkation day was a zoo, and the term had stuck. Eager colonists and green sailors hit Centraltown for their first and probably only visit, and citizens came out to welcome them in force. The zoo made quite a show.

  “And Dr Zayre will be expecting Randy, afterward. Just past dinner.”

  My face fell. “Yes, sir.” Mr Dakko was strict, sometimes even harsh. Why had I come to view his abode as home?

  Later, before bed, Kevin and I lounged in his room. Our conversation turned to the newly arrived ship, and his father’s stint in the Navy.

  I asked, “Ever think of joining up?”

  “Not for a minute.” Kev lay back on his bed, arms over his head.

  I glanced away. Not so much older than I, he seemed much more grown. Not just his manner; even his physique was almost a man’s. “Why not? It’d get you out of here.”

  “I don’t want out.” He thought a while. “Ships are for making money off, not for sailing.”

  “Dad thought otherwise.” My dad, I meant.

  “So does mine, even if he was never an officer.”

  “Why not?”

  Kevin shrugged. “Dad says he was too immature at the time. Then why does he look back on his service with such nostalgia? An awful life, being ordered around, packed like sardines, a year between shore leaves. Know what my life will be?” He rolled over. “I’ve got it figured out. University, then banking, then when Dad’s ready, I’ll take over the business.”

  “What’s so exciting about that?”

  “It’s the banking that’s exciting. Control enough money, and we’ll build our own ships.”

  “That takes specialized yards, the fabricating plants for the fusion—”

  “Exactly, and it’s how Earth holds us over a barrel. They deny us technology that would make us independent. You know, those Naval bastards even ripped the fusion drive out of that obsolete warship they sent to replace Orbit Station after Seafort nuked it? Just to make sure we couldn’t recommission it and have a working starship.”

  I shrugged. It had been Dad’s dream for years to break Earth’s monopoly on shipping. “Someday, the government—”

  “Not the government.
Us!” His eyes sparkled. “Imagine a company so strong, it builds and runs its own starships!”

  “Hope Nation doesn’t have the shipyards to build—”

  “Not just us, Randy, all the senior colonies, working together. We’ll carry ores from Kall’s Planet, grain from Hope Nation, fabrics and fashions from Earth … all at prices we set. We’ll appoint our own Captains, set our own schedules. When we’re wealthy enough, they won’t be able to stop us.”

  “We?”

  “Dakko & Son. Dad’s dream turned a victualling house into the Nation’s leading merchants. Mine is to haul cargo to the stars!”

  Bulging out of Kev’s nondescript old clothes, my shock of wavy hair thrust under a velcap, I was just another joeykid. Few would pay me heed.

  The spaceport was teeming. Perhaps not by Terran standards, but certainly by ours. All the shops were open, immigration officials were checking inoculations, shuttles were landing every thirty minutes, and for once, the terminal restaurant had a long, restless line.

  Kevin followed me, somewhat glumly. He burned with desire to see the new ship. No doubt his father could arrange it, but Kevin had been hoping somehow to see it on his own.

  I peered about the terminal, but the real fun was outside. I thrust through knots of disoriented passengers, made my way into the bright sunshine, Kevin at my heels.

  All around us, eager entrepreneurs had thrown up impromptu stalls of every description. Ship-pale tourists and colonists pored over colorful shirts hauled fresh from Centraltown warehouses. One caught my eye: Hope Nation, Where Fish Were Found. You’d have to be glitched to wear that. Apparently many of these joeys were.

  Nearby, a shadeless stall offered hastily potted local weeds of no particular distinction. At the next table flourished a bizarre collection of so-called native handicrafts. Most were machine-carved softwoods, from trees cut from our plantations when new fields were cleared.

  “Look.” Kevin gave me a nudge.

  At a stall whose sign read NATIVE ANTIQUE DOLLS, an excited woman and her daughters clawed at small figures clothed in outlandish costumes, while the husband waited indulgently.

  “Harvest festiva,” rasped the stall’s exotic proprietor. Oversized gold earrings jangled under her colorful kerchief. “Hold ever’ other year. You just missed.” Judiciously, she lifted a more expensive doll, one of a set dressed in a motley mix of gear: farm clothes, shipboard hand-me-downs, ties, and neckerchiefs. “Original colonists wore. Very rare dolls.”

  I raised an eyebrow. The stallkeeper glanced at me coolly.

  “Hi, Rand’.” She fixed her attention on her prospect. “Seventy Unies. Ain’ she beautiful?”

  I suppressed a grin, left Dr Mantiet to her prey. In real life, she taught psychology at Centraltown University, and had no accent I could discern. Lord knew where she derived the pidgin English she affected. She described her zoo-days stall as both a lucrative hobby and a seminar in applied psychology.

  Still, the zoo was fun to watch. Unethical? Perhaps, but every ship’s library carried holos on Hope Nation; only those joeys who insisted on being gullible were fooled, and the Commonweal cheerfully skinned them alive.

  I sniffed at the pungent scent of frying sausage. Of their own volition my feet bore me closer. Naturally, prices were inflated, but Kevin had coin, and his father had slipped me a few Unies when dropping us off.

  We stood about munching garlic-fried meat in toasted buns, while chatter swirled about us.

  “—if that frazzing Pandeker nags Pa one more time—”

  “He ignores it. You should too.”

  A sharp blow to my shoulder squirted the sausage from my fingers. It splatted on the pavement.

  “Damn it to hell.” I spoke too loudly, and caught glares of disapproval.

  “Hey, joey, sorry.” A pleasant tenor, behind me. “Lemme buy you another.”

  “Watch where you’re …” I peered up. A ship’s officer, about twenty, with another young officer as companion. They were dressed for shore leave: no ties, jackets slung over their shoulders.

  I frowned at his insignia. A midshipman, if I read his bars right. Dad had taught me, years ago, but I’d forgotten much of it. Length-of-service pins, for example, were gibberish.

  “Yeah, Mikhael, watch where you’re going.” The middy’s companion grinned down at me. “Mik’s terminally clumsy, but he means no harm.” To his friend, “Got coin?” He fished in his own pocket. “You, there, give this joeykid a fresh sausage.”

  His insignia was different from his mate’s. I said tentatively, “You’re a lieutenant?”

  “As of last week, yes.” He thrust out a hand. “Tad Anselm at your service.” His grin was so engaging I had to smile back.

  I entrusted my hand to his big paw. Randy Ca—Carlson.” It was a lie, and I hated it. Perhaps in recompense, I brought forth my best manners. “Glad to meet you, sir. This is my friend, Kevin Dakko.”

  The middy waited his turn. “Mikhael Tamarov.”

  We shook hands all around.

  “So, joeys,” said the lieutenant. “What’s to do around here?”

  “You mean, for the day?”

  “Or more. We’re on long-leave. A month, but Mik won’t want to leave the ship for more than a week.”

  “Yes, I do, Tad.” The middy frowned. “Sir.”

  “Off ship, we forget that.”

  “Right. Believe me, I’ll use my month. I just want to check on Pa from time to time.”

  I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t know much about the Navy, but … an officer bringing along his father?

  As if changing the subject, the middy turned to his companion. “Tad, remember what we were saying about intrasystem officers?”

  “That they don’t get real experience?”

  “Listen to this. That joey at the terminal desk says a local mining ship spotted a fish near Three. Comm room sent out a false alarm.”

  “Spotted a what?” I stopped dead. No fish had been seen for decades; they were obliterated by Seafort’s caterwaul stations. The unmanned stations broadcast a skewed N-wave that summoned the aliens to destruction. N-waves allowed us to Fuse, to travel between the stars at something akin to superluminous speeds, but the fish sensed us Fuse and Defuse, and it drove them to frenzy. The caterwaul stations lured the fish with a skewed wave, crisped them with automatic laser fire. We lost stations, but that didn’t matter. Eventually the last fish were destroyed.

  “A fish,” repeated the middy. “But it wasn’t one. It didn’t attack. They blasted it to hell, whatever it was. Probably an ice mass.”

  I nodded. Fish always attacked. Every Nationeer was taught our history, at least that part.

  The lieutenant looked thoughtful. “Not every asteroid radiates as metal. An excited tech …”

  Mik nodded knowingly. “Like you said. Never trust an officer from an intrasystem ship.” He and his lieutenant exchanged knowing glances.

  I bridled. “Not every competent sailor is in your precious Navy.” One of Dad’s long-standing goals had been to break the U.N. Navy’s stranglehold on interstellar shipping, and Anth was just as determined.

  “Sure, joey.”

  I gritted my teeth and ignored the condescension in his tone.

  Anselm waved at the haphazard rows of stalls. “What’s to see beyond this goofjuice?”

  Kevin said brightly, “There’s downtown, the Cathedral, the Zone, the Ventura Mountains …”

  “Pa said I shouldn’t miss the mountains,” said the middy.

  “Downtown would be a good start,” Anselm judged. “Are there guides for hire?”

  “Not really …” Kevin shot me a warning glance. “Tell you what: we’ll show you Centraltown, I’ll even take you to the Zone.”

  “How much?” The lieutenant eyed him suspiciously.

  “Nothing, just for fun. How about giving us a tour of the ship after?” Kev seemed to hold his breath.

  The two officers exchanged glances. “I could,” Mik said. “Pa and
I are having dinner tomorrow.”

  “He still won’t come down? It’d be a chance to get away from—” He lowered his voice. “Pandeker.”

  “He doesn’t want to risk it.”

  “All right, joeys, you’ve got a deal.” Anselm looked about. “Where do we rent an electricar?”

  “You didn’t call ahead? By now they’re all taken. Let’s catch the bus.”

  Kevin chattered all the way downtown, pointing out new construction, our older landmarks, the edge of the devastation left by the asteroid a generation back, just before the U.N. Navy fled and left us to our fate. From time to time I joined in, supplementing his meager supply of facts. Perhaps living with the Stadholder was an advantage; I knew more about Centraltown than Kev, a local.

  Mik and Tad half listened, enjoying themselves just peering out the windows. Hope Nation was their first planetfall since Earth, eighteen months past. No doubt they simply enjoyed the open spaces.

  We went to the Cathedral; I held my breath and tried to look inconspicuous. No one noticed us, under the vaulting roof and the tall Gothic stained-glass windows. Then hours tramping about downtown, a midafternoon meal at one of the better restaurants. The two sailors paid for us all.

  Then uptown, past Churchill Park. To my surprise, Kev stopped at our, um, his house. He bounded up the steps, threw open the door, ushered our two guests inside, showed them everything including his disordered bedroom.

  We heard the door close, downstairs. A chipcase and holovid tucked under his arm, Mr Dakko stopped short, stunned at the mad clatter of footsteps down the stairwell. Kevin was too excited to worry if his father was annoyed at a house full of unexpected guests; he performed enthusiastic introductions. Mr Dakko rallied; after all, his guests were officers in the Navy he’d once served.

  After an hour’s chat, Mr Dakko invited Mik and Tad back for a late dinner. At first they declined, but allowed themselves to be persuaded when it was clear the invitation was genuine. Then, to my astonishment, Mr Dakko offered them the use of his electricar, provided that under no circumstances would they let Kevin or me drive it.

  “You see?” Kev said as we piled in. “My dad respects my friends.”