Children of Hope

by David Feintuch

  He folded his arms, studied me. “You’ve changed. What’s happened, Randy?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve had nothing to do but think.”

  “Feeling sorry for yourself?”

  I faced him. “No.” Not at this moment, at any rate. “Sir, instead of talking, do you think you might …” I reddened. “… get me something to eat?”

  “You don’t like your provisions?”

  “I don’t eat much. The jailer spits in it.” Was there reason to be embarrassed? I could hardly meet his eye.

  “That’s an outrage.” He looked as if he meant it. “By the way, Mr Dakko’s aboard. He wants to see you. The Captain’s consented.”

  “No!”

  “Too bad you weren’t consulted. They’ll come for you in a while. Don’t be afraid if they handcuff you; it’s for security. They’ll bring you back here, after.”

  “Why must I see him?”

  “Why don’t you want to?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged, knowing it was a lie, hating lies. A breath, to steel myself. “Because I’m ashamed, sir.”

  “Of what?”

  I turned away. “I wish …” A laugh, that sounded bitter. “I was going to say I wish my father were here, so he could help me understand. But if he were here, none of this would have happened.”

  “Almost, I feel pity for you.” A sigh. “Not almost. I do. You’re what, fourteen? Come here.”

  I did as I was told.

  Tentatively, his hands went to my shoulders. Slowly, he pulled me into a comforting embrace. “You’ve done great wrong, Randy. But I think you know that.”

  I clung to him as if to Dad, until it was time for him to go.

  My hands clamped behind my back, I waited docilely at the outer brig door. Two sailors held me, one at each arm. I didn’t care. I’d be freed from the damned cells, at least for a while. Even meeting Mr Dakko would be worth that. Midshipman Tamarov commanded the party, and Tad Anselm was nowhere in sight. Perhaps they were giving the middy a way to redeem himself.

  Or giving him another chance to end my life. I sighed.

  They led me far down the cool, airy corridor. I had to walk slowly, from my beating. To break the silence, I said, “It’s nice to see something other than those bare walls.”

  “They’re bulkheads, sir.” Mik’s tone was polite. “The floors a deck, doors are hatches.”

  I yearned for his forgiveness. “Please don’t call me ‘sir.’”

  “Captain’s orders, sir.” A quick glance my way, at the men, back to me, an odd look in his eyes. Perhaps beseeching me not to press him further before his squad.

  We halted at a gold-trimmed door. Er, hatch. Mikhael slapped the control. “Inside, please, sir.”

  I had little choice.

  Two sailors took up position outside the hatch. Reluctantly, I allowed myself to be guided in.

  The lounge was huge. Mr Dakko sat at a table, at one end. He looked, well, almost gaunt. In his eyes was a barely contained anguish.

  Mikhael and a sailor with a stunner retreated to the far bulkhead. I was securely cuffed, and couldn’t attack Mr Dakko. Their stunner was ready if he assaulted me.

  How had it come to this?

  In the background soft music played. If we kept our voices low, we wouldn’t be overheard. I slid into a seat.

  Mr Dakko’s jaw dropped. “Good heavens, what happened? You look like a raccoon.”

  “What’s a raccoon?”

  “An animal on Earth.”

  “I … got into a fight.” In the corner, Mikhael stirred uncomfortably. I lowered my voice further. “You wanted to see me?” My tone came out wrong, almost a sneer. I tried again. “You wanted to see me, sir?” There, that was better.

  His tone was cold. “Kevin is near hysteria. He heard you were dead.”

  “Not yet.”

  “He’s terrified. For that alone, I could …” His fists knotted.

  I swallowed.

  Mr Dakko said, “I’ll reassure him on that point. It’s about all I can do for him. He wants to see you safe, and pulverize you.”

  “Everyone does.” Perhaps they were right.

  He rested his arms on the polished wood. “I can’t believe I let you into my home, you contemptible piece of shit.”

  My ears burned bright.

  “If they release you, if you ever see Centraltown again, I’ll call challenge the day you’re of age. I’ll put you into the ground, Randolph Carr, and the Stadholder be damned.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Could you possibly say anything of consequence?”

  “Why’d you ask to see me, then?”

  “For Kevin, and …” It was his turn to look uncomfortable. “Captain Tolliver won’t allow the Stadholder any contact with you. I’m not exactly an intermediary, but …”

  “A substitute?”

  A nod.

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “Not directly. No doubt I will, after. I see they haven’t treated you well.”

  “Don’t say that. It’s not really true.” I colored. “I deserved what I got.”

  “You deserve hanging.”

  “You’ll get your wish. He’s dying.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s on life support.” I leaned toward him, my cuffs chafing. “Mr Dakko, I want you to know I didn’t plan it. I had no idea Mr Seafort was on Olympiad when we took the shuttle aloft. It was just a lark, to see the ship.”

  “What does that excuse?”

  “Nothing, sir. Nothing at all.” My tone was bleak. “I went berserk. If I could undo …”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I hated him so.”

  “Past tense? He’s still alive.”

  “I still …” I squirmed, as if caught whispering in class. “I still hate what happened to Dad. I always knew he was responsible. Except, no one else thinks so. I may have … may …”

  “Say it.”

  “Misjudged the situation. Him. If you call challenge, I’ll accept. Dad taught me that the Carrs pay for our mistakes.”

  “As with the Bishop?”

  My voice was small. “Please don’t toy with me. I’m wrong, and you’re right.”

  “Too late for humility, joeyboy.” The glint in his eye held no forgiveness.

  “Far too late, sir.”

  “Did I tell you I served under Captain Seafort?”

  I bowed my head. “You too?”

  “On Challenger. He was given an impossible task, to hold together a broken ship. I loathed him, and fought him every step of the way. He impressed me into the Service against my will. He trained me, forced me to do my duty. Together, we saved the ship and ourselves. Along the way, I became a man.”

  My eyes drifted. In the far corner, Mikhael was listening intensely.

  “If he lives, I may not call challenge. But I’ll never forgive you.”

  “No one will.” I struggled to my feet. “Is that all, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  I waited for Mikhael to lead me to the hatch.

  Mr Dakko called after me, “If there’s anything you can do to exculpate Kevin …”

  “I’ve told them all along, but they won’t believe me.”

  Desolate, I trudged to my cell.

  6

  MIKHAEL AND LIEUTENANT ANSELM opened my hatch. “Lieutenant Tamarov reporting, sir. You’ll have to wear these.” He brandished a set of cuffs.

  Wasn’t it bad enough I was locked in a cage? “Afraid I’ll hurt you?” My tone was a jeer.

  “No, sir. But you can’t go out unrestrained.”

  I bounded to my feet. “Out?”

  A hint of a smile. “Yes, sir. For an hour or so.”

  I turned, presented my hands.

  “In front will be sufficient,” said Anselm.

  My glance flitted from one to the other of them. “Why are you treating me so …” Nicely. I was embarrassed to say it.

  Abruptly, Anselm was less affable. “L
et’s say we’re doing it for Derek Carr, not you.”

  Still, escaping my dreary cell was such a joy that I asked, with a real effort to be polite, “How is Mr Seafort today?”

  “Unchanged.”

  We left the brig. As it turned out, we had no particular destination. They let me wander the corridor, admiring the sumptuous fittings.

  Olympiad wasn’t quite a ghost city. There were passengers still aboard, for one reason or another, and a few crew could be seen on repair details and the like.

  We stopped at the purser’s office, where after a short wait I was given a change of clothes. I’d been allowed to shower every morning, but my clothing was another story.

  Mikhael kept a grip on my arm, not hard, just enough so he could say he had custody of me. We walked the whole length of the corridor, until it brought us back to the brig.

  He saw my disappointment. “We have more time.”

  I turned to Anselm. “Must we stay on this Level?”

  “Hmm. I don’t see why. Let’s go below. I’ll take responsibility.”

  We rang for a lift, and it wafted us down three Levels. While we were alone Mikhael let go my arm; gratefully I flexed my muscle.

  We emerged on Level 6, the lowest Level. I looked about at the corridor, curving either direction. “All Levels are circular?”

  “They’re disks,” said Anselm. “The basic design of a starship hasn’t changed in a century and a half. Disks piled one atop another, built around a central shaft.”

  We followed the bend. “It’s hard to tell how long the corridors are.”

  “They’re infinitely long; they follow the curve of the disk, midway from center to edge. Every corridor meets itself. Part of the fun with green middies—or in Mik’s case, cadets—is blindfolding them and letting them figure out where they are.”

  “You made it hard for me,” muttered Mikhael.

  “I wasn’t in charge, and I went through it a few months before you did.”

  I said, “It must be a zark to have a friend aboard whom you knew from before.”

  “We weren’t friends.” Anselm frowned. “Not for a long while.”

  An uneasy silence settled. Mik stopped before a double-wide hatch. “The engine room.”

  Anselm slapped it open, peered in. “I think the Chief’s groundside.”

  “He is, sir.” A young woman, in sailor’s work blues. Short auburn hair, slim build, a competent look about her. She saluted the officers, went back to her gauges.

  “We’ll have a look around.” Anselm steered me into the chamber. “The fusion drive is just below us. See the curve in that alumalloy shaft? That’s how N-waves are generated.”

  I’d never been on a starship, but propulsion wasn’t entirely new to me. Not only had Dad told me stories, but we studied it in school, and holozines from Earth still glorified the Naval fleet. Nonetheless, the shaft was impressive, for its sheer size.

  Mikhael, hand on my arm, let me walk around it. “We’re on standby power, docked at the Station,” he said.

  “I thought you broke seals and were standing off.”

  Anselm said, “We mated locks again last night.” The two exchanged glances. “The Captain reached an, er, understanding with your government.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s for Captain Tolliver to decide.”

  From the hatch, an acid voice. “What’s he doing here?” Lieutenant Skor, a holovid in her hand. “Mr Tamarov, this is a secure area. Have you no sense? Get him out.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am.”

  Anselm said casually, “Actually, I’m responsible, Joanne. Mr Tamarov brought the prisoner here at my direction.”

  The two lieutenants regarded each other.

  “Of course, if you object, we’ll leave immediately.” Tad’s tone was studiously polite. The tension in the air was palpable.

  Ms Skor sighed. “If it were up to me … I won’t override you, Anselm. But I certainly wouldn’t have … not for him, after what he did. Ms Kohn!”

  The rating jumped to her feet. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Where are the power consumption graphs the Captain asked for?”

  “Not programmed yet, ma’am. I’ll get right on it.”

  “Do that.” She tapped something into her holovid. “Carry on.” She was gone.

  From Mikhael, a faint sigh that might have been relief.

  Anselm checked his watch. “Your hour’s up, joey.” He gestured to the hatch.

  We trudged to the brig in silence. At the hatch I said, “Thank you for letting me out. You don’t know how much I—”

  “Captain’s orders,” said Anselm.

  “I’m sure you had something to do with—”

  “Not us.” After a moment, “Jerence Branstead.”

  “Really?” He hadn’t seemed to care much when I complained.

  He lowered his voice. “I shouldn’t …” A sigh. “Branstead told the Captain you were being outrageously mistreated. That he had no authority to intervene, but unless conditions improved he’d make a formal complaint to Admiralty when he went groundside. The Captain was not pleased.” His voice dropped even further. “Anyone spit in your food lately?”

  “I have a different jailer.”

  “Ah.” He regarded me, urged me gently into my cell. “By the way, they’re called master-at-arms’s mates.” He shut the hatch.

  “He’s breathing on his own again, and he’s coming out of renal failure.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” I watched Mr Branstead anxiously.

  “Still in coma. It’s been what, five days?” The retired chief of staff looked as if he hadn’t slept the whole time.

  I sought to change the subject. “Thank you for talking to the Captain.”

  “Tolliver and I have known each other, what, forty years?” He pondered. “Since Trafalgar, anyway. I was a cadet. We went out to fight fish on a training ship. Tolliver and Seafort and I. And a few others.” Many had answered Seafort’s call; few had survived. But the fish were defeated.

  I swallowed. If Mr Branstead was among the heroes of Trafalgar, his voice wouldn’t be ignored at Admiralty. No wonder Tolliver had acquiesced.

  As if reading my mind, he said, “And I can tell you Tolliver isn’t happy. Our friendship may be done.”

  “You did that for me?”

  “For decency.” He stood to go. “I need to see Nick before I turn in.”

  “Has Tolliver decided what to do with me?”

  “I’m afraid he has. He’ll let you know when he’s sure.”

  “Sir?” My plea caught him at the hatch. “If I’m hanged …” I made myself go on. “Would you be there?”

  “Why?”

  “So I’ll have a friend to be brave for.”

  “Christ above.” He slapped shut the hatch. I lay about, teary with self-pity, the rest of the evening.

  Two days passed. Mikhael, reeling with exhaustion, took me for my daily outing, as always, under Anselm’s supervision. Dark circles hollowed his eyes; with my fading bruises, we seemed almost brothers. Anselm found it amusing, but he was exceedingly gentle with Mik, doing almost all the work, letting him rest whenever possible. For Mikhael’s sake, I urged them to take me to a lounge so I could relax in a bright, clean, public place.

  Inside, a young woman was watching a holodrama. She glanced at my shackles. “Do you need privacy?”

  “I’m afraid so, Ms Sloan.” Anselm gave an apologetic shrug.

  “No problem; the east lounge is just as comfortable.” She wandered out.

  I took a chair. The middy sat opposite, and within minutes his eyelids had drooped.

  Anselm said softly, “Captain Seafort is half-conscious. It’s a good sign.”

  “Megazark!” My heart bounded.

  His look was curious. It was I, after all, who’d tried to kill him.

  “There may be brain damage. Doc Romez can’t tell yet.”

  “May I see him?”

  “They�
��d never allow it.”

  We spent the full hour in the lounge, talking softly, letting Mik “rest,” as Anselm called it. In fact he was sound asleep, snoring softly. “In the middy wardroom he snored every night. Just enough to notice.”

  “But you’re a …” I tried to figure it out.

  “It’s complicated. When we met, I was a middy, he was a civilian. Then Mr Seafort broke me to cadet. When Olympiad sailed to Constantine, he’d adopted Mik as his son and I was still cadet, but it wasn’t long before the Captain restored my rank. By then Mik was agitating for permission to enlist, in his father Alexi’s footsteps. Eventually the Captain let him. So Mik was low man in our wardroom, and I was just another middy. Before we reached home, Mr Seafort made Mik a middy too. I think that’s so Mik wouldn’t have to go to Academy, and they wouldn’t be separated. It wasn’t just nepotism; he’d seen to it that Mik was qualified. When we sailed again, I was first middy, in charge of the wardroom. And I’ll tell you, Mik took some sitting on. He’s exuberant, impulsive, passionate about his ideas … and one of the finest friends I could imagine.”

  “Yes, sir.” I couldn’t imagine why I’d said it.

  “A couple of weeks ago, I made lieutenant, and moved out of the wardroom. Mik and I planned to celebrate together over long-leave. Instead, thanks to you, we’re holding deathwatch.”

  My eyes fell. No apology could suffice. I’d acted out of principle, but …

  “Let’s get you back to your cell.”

  That evening, when the hatch opened, I expected Mr Branstead, but it was a midshipman, a holovid under his arm. With him was a sailor, who bore a stunner.

  “Randolph Carr.” It was statement, not question.

  I nodded.

  He switched on his holovid. “I am Midshipman Andrew Ghent, U.N.N.S. By order of Captain Edgar Tolliver, I inform you that you are charged with the attempted murder of Captain Nicholas Ewing Seafort, U.N.N.S., on the twenty-fifth day of November, in the year of Our Lord twenty-two hundred forty-six, in that, by premeditation, you struck him upon the head with a blunt object, to wit, a chair, with the intent of causing death.”

  “Are you also trying Kev—”

  “Randolph Carr, I further inform you that you are to be brought to trial on December 1 of this year, that is, tomorrow, before a military court comprised of one judge, appointed by the Captain of this vessel. As judicial officer, the Captain has appointed Lieutenant Joanne Skor, U.N.N.S.”