“But the car?”
“He can be zarky. Last night was only one side of him.”
I shook my head. I could no more imagine Dad handing out his electricar than publicly embarrassing me over an epithet.
The day passed, and then we came home to dinner. Mikhael Tamarov was in good form, telling shipboard stories, making clever jokes. His eyes twinkled. I listened, chin on hands, admiring his style. If only I could sparkle so, hold my friends entranced. If only I had his wit, his open friendliness. I sighed.
Somehow, in the course of events, no more was said about my transferring to Dr Zayre’s that day. Late in the evening, Mr Dakko drove the two sailors to Naval barracks and by the time he was back, Kev and I were sound asleep.
In the morning, Kev was free of school, and I continued truant from mine. I’d noticed that in the rush of the evening’s conversation, Kev hadn’t mentioned to his father our deal for a tour of the ship, so over breakfast I was likewise silent.
Somehow, by morning, the sailors had secured an electricar. Centraltown had them to rent, but normally there wasn’t much demand. Except when a ship came in.
Lieutenant Anselm drove us first to the Governor’s Manse, where Fred Mantiet and old Zack Hopewell had helped overthrow the outlaw Triforth government. The middy Mikhael, of all people, seemed unduly affected, his eyes glistening as the tourist guide led us past the “new” front porch, where forty-six years ago the desperately injured Nick Seafort forced his way past the guards. Then the comm room, where, near death from a festering lung, Seafort had made his famous speech. Unfortunately the bastard had survived, to kill my father on Galactic.
Tad had it in mind to eat at Haulers’ Rest. I quelled my unease. Few plantation families had reason to stop there, and if I minded my business, and wore Kevin’s cap low, I’d most likely not be recognized. Besides, I hadn’t yet been adjudicated wayward; as far as I knew, no charges had been laid despite Bishop Scanlen’s complaint. If necessary, I could brazen it out, though I’d want to be long gone before Anth got wind of it.
I guided Lieutenant Anselm along the two-hour drive. Being consigned to the backseat was far less boring than I’d imagined. The sailors were brimming with questions about Centraltown life, and not at all put off by our youth.
I finally got up my courage to ask, “How come you spend so much time with us, instead of looking for girls?”
Mikhael flushed, but Lieutenant Anselm just grinned. “Neither of us wants the girls we’d find in a bar, joey, and besides, I’ve had my fill of bars. And do you think we’ve been without, during the cruise? Middies have free time, you know. We can’t socialize with crew women, but Olympiad carries over three thousand passengers. A number of them are attractive.”
I grunted, embarrassed beyond words.
“You ought to join up, Randy. Lots of joeygirls like a uniform, even a cadet’s. Mik, here, found that—”
A determined cough. Mikhael was blushing furiously.
“Anyway, if the proper company comes along, we’ll welcome it. Meanwhile, we’ll see the sights.”
The middy had been nice to me, and deserved relief from his embarrassment. “You were a cadet?”
“It seemed like forever.” He glanced with pride at his insignia. “I’ve been middy two years now. I started late,” he said. Most cadets were enlisted at thirteen or fourteen, and were promoted within two years or so.
“I’m always behind Tad,” he added glumly. “We had two years in the wardroom, but now we’re separated again.”
“So, you have to salute me.” Anselm’s tone was annoyed. “We’re still friends, and you’re way too old for the barrel.”
“Thank Lord God.” Some memory made the boy blush anew. “There’s still demerits.”
“Tolliver may demerit you; I won’t, and you know that.”
Mik sighed. “Yes, sir. I know.” He turned to me. “Lieutenants can give demerits. Each means two hours of calisthenics.”
“Of course. My father—” I bit it off. They thought my name was Carlson. “My father told me.”
“Tad …” For a moment, Mik ignored us civilians. “Sometimes I earn them, I admit. But Pandeker complains to Ms Frand, and every time, she …”
Anselm frowned. “Stay out of his way.”
“Pandeker’s everywhere. You know he looks for an excuse—”
“It’s Naval business, Mik.” In his tone, gentle warning.
“I suppose.” The middy sounded glum.
“Who’s Pandeker?” My tone was bright.
“Special envoy of the Patriarchs.”
“To us?” All we needed was more Church fathers mucking about.
“To Olympiad.” Mik sounded bitter.
“Ships don’t have parsons.” The Captains carried out religious functions. Everyone knew that.
“This one does.” Tad made a face.
“He’s keeping an eye on—”
“Mikhael.” Another warning, not so gentle.
Mik’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry.”
“I understand your frustration. One might say I even share it. So, joeys, just how big is the Plantation Zone?”
I let Anselm steer me to casual chat. What problem was he reluctant to discuss with outsiders? It was the Naval way, I knew. Most of their traditions were legends. Even today, the U.N. Navy was the most talked-of service, and joeykids dreamed of going to Earth to enlist. Not I, of course. After the Navy killed Dad, I hated the U.N.N.S. with a passion.
We polished off a huge meal of corn bread, ham steaks, fresh green beans, mountains of potatoes—all Haulers’ Rest meals were overgenerous—and climbed into the car for the two-hour trip back. By the time we reached the outskirts of Centraltown much of the day was gone. Even Mik seemed restless. He checked his watch. “I ought to catch a shuttle.”
Anselm sighed. “I’ll go too, I suppose.”
“Pa’s expecting me, but stay groundside and enjoy yourself.”
For a moment Anselm looked shy. “I’ll enjoy it more with you.” To Kevin, “You joeys ready for your tour?”
“Yes, please.” Kev’s voice was tight.
They parked in front of Admiralty House—though we were no longer a colony, the Navy maintained a small base here, under Admiral Kenzig—and we walked across the tarmac to the terminal. Much of the morning’s excitement had subsided, as stallkeepers went home to dinner and their normal jobs.
Kev asked, “How do we get back down afterward?”
“We’ll get you on a shuttle. Or you can stay aboard the night, and we’ll come groundside with you.”
“Zark.” Kevin keyed his caller. “Wish me luck.” It rang several times, with no answer. His face relaxed as he keyed voice mail. He spoke rapidly, as if afraid he’d be interrupted. “Dad, we’re going aloft with Tad and Mik. We’ll be back late tonight. Sorry we missed you.” He rang off, switched his caller to decline incoming calls. “We’re out of range.”
I said nothing.
“He might not like it.” Kev’s tone was defensive. “When we’re done I’ll pay the price, whatever it is. I don’t need my daddy to hold my hand.”
I smiled, welcoming back the Kevin I’d known last summer. For a time I’d wondered if he’d grown up entirely.
Many more joeys were coming groundside than going back aloft; seats on the shuttle weren’t a problem. Mik and his lieutenant went to the Naval desk, showed their IDs, signed us in as their guests. To my astonishment, that’s all it took. No DNA check, no retinoscopy.
We strode to the waiting shuttle, agleam in the spaceport lights. Mik asked, “You been in one of these before?”
“Of course.” Belatedly, I realized my tone was contemptuous. But Dad had taken me aloft at times. In my mind’s eye I saw him striding through the fastship’s hatch, never to return. I swallowed.
Kevin looked nervous. “I haven’t.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really? But your father—”
“Next time. Always next time.” His voice was sullen.<
br />
We passed through weigh-in and found seats. It was one of the larger shuttles, and mostly empty.
As we settled in, Lieutenant Anselm threw a genial arm around Kevin’s shoulder. “At liftoff, gravity will press you hard. Just lie there, try to relax. After, you’ll be weightless ’til we reach the Station. Take shallow breaths, stay buckled in. If you feel sick—”
“He will.” Mik spoke with confidence. “Just lean to your right and barf on the lieutenant. I would, but he’d demerit me.”
Kevin smiled weakly. “I’ll manage.”
I hoped so. Else he’d embarrass us, and Hope Nation, before these outworlders. As for me, I’d been aloft with Dad and Anth, and hadn’t had an accident since I was six.
Liftoff was just as Tad Anselm had promised. I lay back in my cushioned seat, gripping the armrests while the world pulsed. At length it was over. Eagerly, I unbuckled.
“Hey, joey, stay put.”
“I’m fine. Really.” I grabbed a handhold, pulled myself up, twisted, let myself spin slowly. “See?”
“Don’t.” Kev’s face was green. He swallowed.
I had to divert him quickly. “Look!” I pointed to the porthole, and Hope Nation’s green globe. “Isn’t it beautiful?” I settled myself next to him. “That’s Western Continent.”
“I don’t care.”
“The Venturas run from the center to the coast.” Idly, my fingers rubbed his forearm. “It’s cool, Kev. Look.”
Dutifully, he did.
“The old military base was near that spine. We probably can’t see much. Ever go there? It’s all a park now.”
He squinted, leaned to the porthole. Together, we peered out. After a moment, softly, “Thanks.”
Mikhael’s eyes were far away. Unconsciously, he smoothed his hair, straightened his tie.
Slowly, our shuttle approached the Station.
We didn’t have a proper station anymore, not since Seafort destroyed it. In all the years since, it had never been rebuilt. Instead, Admiralty had sent us an obsolete warship, decommissioned it, and let it serve as the core of a new Orbiting Station. Over the years we’d added new airlock bays as well as cavernous storage facilities for grains and ores. But pieces of the original vessel still poked through, and the effect was startling.
Kevin, his vertigo forgotten, took it all in. “Look at the size of her.”
“The Station? It’s grown over the years, but …”
“Not that, you snark. The ship.”
I peered out the window, at Olympiad, whose bulk dwarfed the nearby Station. “Holy Lord God.” I didn’t know I’d spoken. She was … vast. Majestic. Something stirred within. I looked to Anselm, with something akin to awe. “That’s where you serve? In her?
Tad nodded with evident pride.
I swallowed. “No wonder you’re not lonely.”
She loomed larger as we neared.
“We won’t moor at the Station?”
“No need. Olympiad has ample bays. We can board directly.” He settled back in his seat.
Mik unbuckled. “I’ll call Pa, then show you joeys around.”
I barely heard. My eyes were fastened on the great behemoth, floating against the backdrop of a billion pinpoints of light.
With precise care, our pilot mated us to the huge ship’s waiting bay. A click, as capture latches slid into place.
As the starship’s gravitrons took hold, Anselm stood, grabbed his carrybag.
The airlock hatch slid open.
I squinted in the silent white lighting, while a bored sailor on airlock watch idly looked me over. The corridor seemed deserted. I said, “Where are all the people?”
Mik took up the caller. “Groundside. We’re on Level 2; most of these cabins are empty.” He waved vaguely. “The new passengers won’t board for three weeks. Just a moment.” He punched in a code. “Bridge, Midshipman Mikhael Tamarov reporting. Permission to board with two guests, ma’am?” A pause. “A couple of joeykids we met groundside. Kevin Dakko and Randy—uh, because they showed us around. Yes, of course, at all times. I’ll sign them in and be responsible. Thanks, Ms Frand.” A quick grin to Lieutenant Anselm, which might have been relief. “Is the Captain in his cabin, do you know?” Another pause. “Yes, in just a bit.” He rang off. “We’re to keep them in sight at all times, so they don’t fire the fusion drive by mistake.”
Kevin’s look was apprehensive.
“Or de-air the ship.” Tad Anselm’s tone was dry. “No doubt you want to see your father?”
“For dinner, yes, sir.”
“Very well, get changed; I’ll take these two on walkabout.”
“Thanks, sir. Where shall we meet?”
“Why not the Dining Hall?”
Mikhael glanced at his watch. “An hour or so. Suits me.” A quick salute, and he was off.
Kevin stirred. “Why did he suddenly start calling you ‘sir’?”
“Because we passed through the airlock.” Anselm’s hand gently guided his shoulder. “This way, joeyboy. I’ll show you passenger quarters, and some of the lounges. Perhaps after dinner the Captain will allow a look at the bridge.”
The cabins were sumptuous but none too large; I’d hate to be cooped in one for a full year. On the other hand, the public areas were ample, so much so that I lost my bearings in a maze of elegant stairwells and carpeted corridors.
Olympiad had not just one or two levels, like most ships, but six. She even had lifts to supplement the stairwells.
“What’s it like living on her?” I was impressed despite myself.
“Depends who you are.” Anselm led us past a crew lounge, toward the comm room. “Passengers dine and sleep quite comfortably. Crew quarters? Let’s say they’re adequate. Middies—”
Kevin asked, “Could I see a crew berth?”
“I’m afraid not. They’re off-limits to … well, perhaps while the crew’s on leave it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“I’d really like that. My father … Mr Dakko had lived in one, when he was Kevin’s age.
“I’ll see what I can do. Now, middies are crammed together, as always, but lieutenants’ cabins are decent enough. Care to see mine?”
“Sure.” I tried to sound eager, for Anselm’s sake.
“After dinner; it’s just about time.”
“Where should we wait while—”
“Oh, you’re invited, have no fear. There’s plenty of seats now most of our passengers are ashore.” He led us upward, toward the more ornate Level 2 dining hall.
I trudged behind, my jaw clenched. For all her splendor, this extravagant ship was an almost identical twin to UNS Galactic. In surroundings such as these, Dad had died a horrible death, choking in vacuum, clawing at nothing while his eyeballs—
“Randy, you all right?” Kevin touched my arm.
I pulled free. I wouldn’t speak of my nightmare. In subdued silence, we trudged to the Dining Hall.
The spacious compartment was as sumptuous as the best restaurants in Centraltown; at one time or another, under Anthony’s watchful eye, I’d dined in them all. Velvet draperies, gleaming rails, starched tablecloths, and crystal glassware bespoke affluence and old-world elegance.
Lieutenant Anselm led us to a round table. “During the cruise, each officer sits with a table of passengers, and we rotate monthly. To tell the truth, at times it’s a bore.”
I pulled out my heavy steel-framed upholstered chair. Kev, at my left, glanced about nervously. “We’re not dressed for this.”
Anselm clapped the shoulder of his jumpsuit. “You’re fine, joey. Officers dress for dinner; passengers are more casual, especially in port.” His tone was kind.
Only a handful of joeys wandered in, while the stewards prepared for service. I tried to imagine the hall filled to capacity, as well as the auxiliary dining hall below, which we’d been shown on our tour.
I spotted Mikhael. He was fully decked out: fresh shirt, dark blue pants, crisp blue jacket with his insignia patches. His tie was
neatly in place, his hair fresh combed. He was talking animatedly with an older officer, who led a little girl by the hand.
Slim of build, stern of face, the officer’s salt and pepper hair was cut short, his demeanor imposing. He seemed vaguely familiar. Something Mikhael said amused him; a smile lightened his features. His fingers brushed Mikhael’s arm. My fist tightened. Dad had been fond of the same gesture.
At their table, three civilians were waiting. A steward held out a chair, but first the officer seated the child. Mikhael waited until both were in their places, took the seat to his other side, spread his napkin carefully on his lap.
At our own table, we sat.
“Fresh meat and vegetables tonight,” said Anselm, opening his own napkin. “Of course, Hydroponics provides us with ample greens, but—”
“Pardon, sir.” Midshipman Tamarov, with a crisp salute to Anselm. “The Captain requests the pleasure of your company, and that of our guests.” To me, a wink and a mischievous grin.
“But, of course.” Tad shot to his feet, gestured us to rise. “It’s considered an honor, boys. Though not exactly unexpected, in this case.”
While I was puzzling that out, we made our way across the nearly empty hall. The older officer stood; I realized his insignia was that of Captain. “Welcome to Olympiad.” He held out a hand.
Mikhael said, “Sir, may I present my friends Kevin Dakko and Randy Carlson. Randy, Kevin, Captain Nicholas Seafort.”
The color drained from my face. A hand steadied me.
My mouth worked. “You’re … Seafort? The Captain Seafort? The former SecGen?”
A thin smile. “I believe that’s so.”
Awed, Kevin took his hand. Then, because all were watching, so did I.
He gestured to a place just past Mikhael. “Please join us. And please meet Jane Ellen Seafort, my daughter.” He tousled the young one’s hair.
I pulled out my heavily padded chair, slumped at the table, my head spinning. A steward set a silver tureen on a stand, ladled steaming mushroom soup into our bowls. The aroma of fresh hot bread wafted across the starched table.
“So,” said the Captain. “I hear you gave our boys the grand tour of Centraltown.”
I mumbled something; Kevin took up the conversation. “It was a zark, sir. We went to Haulers’ Rest.”
Children of Hope Page 7
