“That’s not your affair.” He seemed affronted. We crowded into the lift; he punched the button for Level 1. Then, “They weren’t all at once. My first midshipman issued a number of them.”
“Mr Anselm?”
“Yes.” His tone held warning. I glanced at his eyes; they seethed.
We paused outside the bridge. The middy ran fingers through his hair, straightened his tie, knocked at the hatch.
The corridor camera swiveled; the hatch slid open. “Come in.”
Ghent marched in, hauling me in tow. “Midshipman Andrew Ghent reporting with prisoner Carr as ordered, sir.” He let go my arm, snapped to attention.
Edgar Tolliver swung his chair. The Captain’s face was thin, lined. His gray hair was cut short and trim. He was slim but not unduly so, and looked fit. “Very good, Mr Ghent. Wait in the corridor, if you will.”
“Aye aye, sir.” A salute. The boy wheeled and marched out. The Captain closed the hatch behind him. We were alone.
Hands locked behind me, I looked about. So this was the bridge of a starship. Dad had described it, but …
Machinery gleamed. The Captain sat at a console that faced the front wall. Across the wall—the bulkhead, Randy—was a huge curved simulscreen. The view took my breath away: millions of stars, all the familiar constellations. And below us, Hope Nation, achingly, beautifully green. For a moment I smelled the fresh sea breeze that would never again cool my face.
“If I might have your attention?” Tolliver’s acid voice recalled me.
A flame of fury washed clear my mind. He needn’t have been cruel. It did no harm for me to look about. Very well, he had set the tone. “Of course.” My tone was nonchalant. I faced him, standing a few paces distant. I pretended I’d chosen to clasp my hands behind my back.
He said, “Would you care to sit?”
“Why, no, actually.” We were planters, exchanging courtesies before a conference. “But by all means remain seated, if you wish.”
It was calculated insult, and it scored. His eyes narrowed. “Naval regulations provide for review of any sentence by the Captain of the vessel. When my review is completed your execution will be carried out, or set aside.”
“So I understand.” I would give not an inch.
The caller buzzed.
“Yes?” The Captain spoke to the bulkhead speaker.
“Coram Room reporting incoming traffic, priority one, requesting you, sir.”
“Source?”
“The Stadholder.”
“I’ll return his call shortly.” He touched his pad; the background hiss vanished. “So, Mr Carr. Was your trial unfair in any particular?”
“It was not.”
“Were you adequately represented?”
“To my satisfaction.”
Tolliver drummed the console. “Your sentence was within the guidelines. I myself was present for your attack, and saw its savagery. What do you have to say in your defense?”
“Nothing.”
“Look here, boy!” His tone sharpened. “Mr Seafort isn’t Captain at the moment, I am. My duty is to decide whether your sentence is warranted, not to carry out a vendetta. Did I want to see you tried? Yes. Did I want you convicted? I hoped it would be the case. Did I want a death sentence?” A long pause. “Yes. But now I wear a different cap, as it were, and I’ll try to put aside my feelings. Your task is to convince me to spare you.”
“Why is that my task?”
He seemed nonplussed. “So you’ll survive. You have no other advocate.”
I shrugged. “Is there anything else, Captain?”
“Do you want to die?”
“That’s a private matter, Mr Tolliver. You have no warrant to ask of it.”
“You’re insolent.”
“I have no duty of courtesy to you.” I spoke with civility. I wasn’t sure why, or how, but I knew I was winning.
“Why’d you want to kill Nick Seafort?”
“Your interrogation gives you any answer to which you’re entitled.”
He said suddenly, “You destroy yourself out of hate for me.”
“I might. That’s my privilege.”
“I ought to have you whipped for discourtesy.”
“That, too, is within your power.” I spoke as calmly as I could. If he did that, I’d be humiliated beyond bearing. So I must make it seem as if it didn’t matter.
Abruptly Tolliver spun his chair, showing me his back. A long moment passed. “Do you know,” he told the bulkhead, “there was a time I hated Nick Seafort as much as you?”
“I wasn’t aware.” I strove to sound bored and polite.
“Would you like to hear of it?”
Yes! “If you wish.”
“I was a lieutenant, and proud of it. Assigned to the Hope Nation fleet during the war.”
I waited.
“I saved Captain Seafort’s life, by hauling him from the pilot’s seat of a heli under attack, and taking the controls. Touching the Captain uninvited is a capital crime. He broke me to middy. I thought of killing him.”
“A not uncommon whim.”
“Perhaps. A lot of joeys hated Nick, most of them incompetent, or fools.”
“Do you include yourself?”
“No, I was neither.” He spoke without hesitation, and I gave him points. Anthony would have approved. So would Dad.
“I wished him dead, Mr Carr. But I didn’t act on it.” He turned to face me. “That’s the point.”
“If you hated him, why are you with him now?” It was utterly irrelevant, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Are you entitled to my life story?”
“No, but you began it.”
A hint of a smile. “I served with him at Hope Nation, and home on Victoria. Then no one would take me, thanks to the blot on my record. So he appointed me his aide, at Academy. He was Commandant, you know.”
I nodded. On Hope Nation as well as on Earth, Seafort’s story was legend.
“We had a … well, a special relationship. I said whatever I chose, and he allowed it, knowing my feelings. In return I gave him my best service.” His eyes fastened on the simulscreen. “Then the fish came, and came, and came. We went to face them, in Trafalgar.”
“With Mr Branstead.”
Tolliver looked startled. “Yes, Jerence was there, a cadet, frightened out of his wits. I’ll tell you, boy, what I saw that day was …”
I was afraid to speak.
He shook himself. “Seafort saved the planet. And all of home system. And then, decades later, he saved us again from revolution and chaos. So when he was hurt and soulsick, exiled and homeless, of course I sailed with him.” A moment of reflection. “He’s above hate and revenge. For you to smash his head was … monstrous. He’s so God damned selfless—” Even I flinched at the blasphemy. “—he might forgive you. But I’m not. So I’ll do what he won’t.”
I wished my hands were free, so I might hug him.
“Which means I’ll have to hurry. But still, I owe you full consideration. I ask one last time, will you speak for yourself?”
“There’s no need.”
“I will not take into account what’s not in the record!”
“I quite understand.”
He touched a control; the hatch slid open. “I have a petition for clemency.”
“My nephew Anthony.”
“Oh, of course he protests.” He waved it aside. “From aboard ship.”
“May I ask who signed it?”
“Lieutenant Anselm and Andrew Ghent.”
I had no words.
“What is within you, boy, that officers who revere Seafort—far more than I, let me add—make themselves your advocates?”
“They’re easily deluded.”
He regarded me. “It’s true, you do have a death wish. Mr Ghent!”
The middy popped through the hatch. “Midshipman Andrew—”
“Take him below, I’m done with him.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The boy gripp
ed my arm. “Mr Carr …”
I allowed myself to be steered from the bridge.
Several times Ghent made as if to speak, stopped himself. Then, “How did it go?”
I dug in, forcing him to halt. “Why did you petition for clemency?”
He colored. “I didn’t think he’d tell you.”
“Why?”
The boy shrugged, made a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know. I couldn’t—it was—” More gestures, tics, that subsided to naught. “We have to go.”
“Tell me, or drag me to the cell.” Helplessness, I was learning, conferred great power.
He tugged at my forearm. “I can’t afford more demerits.”
“Why the petition, Midshipman?”
He grew red. “If ever I’m in trouble—real trouble—I want to act as you did in court.”
“But I assaulted Mr Seafort.”
“Tad—Mr Anselm—says you had reason, and regret it bitterly. Do you?”
I owed him, and couldn’t refuse. “I regret it.”
“Mr Carr, the Stadholder all those years, was your father?”
“Yes.”
“I never saw Galactic. They say she was just like Olympiad.” It seemed a non sequitur. “At night—please walk with me—I lie awake sometimes, imagining the ship sliding into Earthport Station, her hull ripped apart, the unquenchable fire …” He shuddered. “So many people. Mr Seafort’s wife was Captain when Galactic foundered.”
“I know.” She’d died with her ship.
We entered the lift.
Galactic’s loss, and the coup, dominated the holozines for months. I had every issue carefully locked in my desk in my bedroom.
Ghent’s voice was earnest. “We think of acting bravely—we all have those fantasies, don’t we?—but … the air running out, the lifeboats gone, not enough suits …” His eyes glistened. “Your father Derek helped dozens of passengers to safety. He died a hero.”
“I know.” It took inhuman effort to speak calmly.
“God, how you must miss him.”
I slid to the deck, leaned to the side, beat my head against the elevator frame.
“Don’t—oh, Mr Carr, I’m so sorry! Don’t!” He knelt, pulled my head to his chest. “Forgive me.” His voice caught. Frantically, he sought the keys, released my hands. “God, what have I done?” He rocked me, for all the world like a distraught mother.
After, his hand on my shoulder, he guided me to the solace of my cell.
The next day, no one at all came, except Master-at-arms Janks. In silence, he gave me food, allowed me to walk the corridor—no cuffs, just two sailors as escort, each with a stunner—and escorted me to the shower.
It was just as well. My courage had reached its limit. No, surpassed it. There was a lump in my throat that threatened to dissolve in wails and whimpers. I was tired of putting up a brave front, exhausted with the struggle not to plead for mercy.
I wasn’t completely insane; I yearned to live. I wanted to curl cross-legged on Judy Winthrop’s bed, hear her chatter, grow closer, touch her breast.
I wanted to dive unclothed into the pond, even if Alex and Judy were watching. I wanted to apologize to Anth, tell him I’d try harder.
I wanted to go to school.
I wanted … what did it matter? The lure of life was seductive. But …
The Carrs pay their debts.
A soft knock at the hatch.
I was so startled, I could only stare.
Another knock.
“Come in.”
Tad Anselm. He tried a smile, without much success. “How are you today?”
“Well enough.”
“I have a message from Captain Tolliver.”
“I’m surprised Ghent didn’t deliver it. He’s the usual—”
“He’s in the brig, two cells down. He refused.”
I came to my feet.
“Captain Tolliver has reviewed the sentence pronounced by the court and con—” His face contorted. “And confirms it. The execution will be tomorrow, at noon.”
“Where’s Mik? I want to talk to Mik!”
“He’s in the wardroom, on his bed.”
I hugged myself.
If I begged, Anselm would try to get to Seafort. The old man would listen, and for my father’s sake he’d …
“It’s tearing him to pieces, but Mikhael will honor your request. He won’t mention this to his father.”
At least one of us has honor.
Tad himself could …
It would be vile to ask.
“Randy, I’ll keep silent, if you insist. I don’t want to.”
I was trapped. I could live, but only if I accepted a life not worth living. I nodded, turned to the wall. Bulkhead. Whatever it was.
“Shall I leave you alone?”
“No!” I fought a mighty war of annihilation, made my voice something human. “Sit with me. Say nothing, just sit.”
He did so. After a time, his hand crept round my shoulder. Time passed; I had no idea how long.
“Where is Mr Branstead?”
“Groundside, I hear. He should be back tonight.”
“May I tell you the truth, sir?”
He said, “Of course.”
“I’m very afraid.”
His grip tightened.
“It’s very important I not show it. Can you help me find …” I waited, until I was sure I could speak. “A way to carry through?”
“You have more courage than anyone I’ve ever met. Including Mr Seafort. Your father had much to be proud of.”
“We have to change the subject.”
After a time he said, “I’ll be there, if the Captain allows. I think he will. When you’re frightened, look at me.”
“Will that help?”
“I’m sure it will.” He spoke with confidence. On my shoulder, his fingers twitched.
The hatch slid open. “Begging your pardon, Mr Anselm.” Master-at-arms Janks. “Captain Seafort is asking for the prisoner. I’m to take him.”
“Very well.” Anselm stood. “Tell him, Randy.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I beg you.”
“If I’m to redeem myself at all, I can’t.”
“The handcuffs aren’t necessary, Mr Janks.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I must.” He secured my wrists.
We made the now-familiar journey to sickbay.
Captain Seafort, wearing a robe, was propped in bed. His new bandage was much smaller. Stitches were visible, and areas where the skull had been shaved. His eyes were alert. A young tyke played in his lap.
Janks came to attention.
“Ah, Mr Carlson. You’ve met Janey?”
“Yes, sir. At dinner.”
He frowned. “That wasn’t good for her to see. Was it, hon.” He nuzzled her cheek.
“You’re better now, Daddy.”
“Yes I am, love.” To Janks, “Release him, let him sit, and leave us.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.” Janks uncuffed me, though. He pushed me into a seat at the bulkhead, as far from the bed as was possible. He cuffed each of my wrists to an arm of the chair.
My heart pounded.
“I want him freed.”
Janks was sweating. “Sir, Captain Tolliver’s orders. I can’t leave him with you otherwise.”
“Very well. Out.”
When we were alone, Mr Seafort regarded me. “I’m treated as an invalid. I detest that.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sat up, closed his eyes a moment. “This cursed dizziness. My love, Dr Romez is in his office. Go see if he’ll play with you.”
“Lemme stay.”
“No, hon.” He patted Janey’s posterior.
“You’re mean.” But she climbed down, padded out.
“So.” Shrewd gray eyes examined me. “Tell me what’s being hidden.”
“What, sir?”
“Despite your best efforts, I’m not yet an idiot. Mik wont talk to me,
Anselm avoids me like the plague, though he’s been almost a son for five years now. Tolliver won’t meet my eye. Ghent is nowhere to be found, and even Jerence is making himself scarce. What in blazes is going on?”
I balanced on the cusp. It was so easy to be certain, speaking with Tad. Now, at the moment of truth …
“I can’t say, sir.” There. And it wasn’t even a lie.
“Why did you try to kill me?”
“No reason that would matter.”
“It’s all right to tell me. I won’t be angry.”
“It’s nothing that would make sense.” I shut my mouth.
“What are they going to do with you?”
“I’d really rather not discuss it.” After my duel with Tolliver, it was surprisingly easy.
His fingers scrabbled for the bed controls. He raised his backrest, swung his legs over the side. With great care, he stood, balanced by hanging on to the headboard.
After a moment he cast loose, walked carefully to my chair, past it to the next. He didn’t quite totter.
Gratefully, he sank into the soft seat. “Listen to me, joey-boy.” His tone was sharp. “I won’t put up with this. You will tell me what I want to know. You will belay this evasiveness. RIGHT NOW!”
I began to cry.
“Now, boy!”
My mouth opened. In desperation I clamped it shut, shook my head.
“Enough! God—bless it!” He raised his voice. “Romez! Doctor!”
Running steps. Dr Romez hurled himself into the room, Janks a step behind.
“I want Captain Tolliver, and I want him NOW!”
“Sir, I can’t order—”
“Tell him I’m on the warpath and he will by God be here in the next minute!”
I sat, shoulders hunched over, my fingers clawing at the cuffs. My eyes stung from salt. I sucked in mucus.
Seafort worked his way to his feet. “I wish to hell I could walk.” A pause. “Sorry. But more than a few steps and I have to hold on to the bulkhead. You really did me well, boy. There, it’s all right, stop crying, blow your—oh!” With determination, he trod back to the bed, found a handkerchief, made his way back. “Here.” He held it to my nose.
“You asked to see—well! How touching.” Tolliver’s tone was acid.
“Be warned, Edgar. I’m beyond fury. Don’t goad me.”
“May I suggest you resume your bed? You’re pale.”
“Wasn’t there another boy with Mr Carlson?”
“Yes. Kevin.”
Children of Hope Page 13
