Children of Hope Read online

  Son. Almost, my lip curled. I was no one’s son, and most definitely not his. For Anthony’s sake I controlled myself. Dutifully, I shook his hand.

  I sometimes called Anth “cousin,” and thought of him so. He’d warned me, years ago, to play no teasing games with our relationship. In truth, I was his uncle, though he was twice my age. His grandfather was my father Derek Carr, long our First Stadholder.

  I was the youngest of what Dad jokingly called his second crop, born years after his first wife Clarisse had died. My own mother, Sandra, had become a Limey, gradually abandoning religious zeal for her world of chemdreams. There was little love lost between her and Anth. Dad had kept peace between them, and when he was gone, Anthony had worked hard to be accommodating.

  I suppose after Dad was killed I’d let resentment get the best of me. The next couple of summers had seen episodes of rocks through windows, slashed power cords in the night, and the like, until Anthony had, as he termed it, taken me in hand.

  Sure, I resented him—what joeykid wouldn’t? He sure as hell wasn’t my father, and had no claim to my obedience. But Dad would have gone into orbit if he’d learned what I’d been up to, and with Mom inhaling Sublime nearly every evening she wasn’t attending church, there was no one to whom I could complain. No one to rein me in, either. The Mantlet twins even urged me to run away.

  Hah. To where? Centraltown? Cities chew ass, and besides, as Dad used to remind me, the Rebellious Ages were long past. Our society, like Earth’s, prized order; joeykids did as they were told. Fugitive joeys faced correctional farms, and perhaps jail as well, if they were petitioned into court.

  Not that I didn’t fight; I’d be damned if Anth would cow me without a struggle. And in the process, I found what I hadn’t expected: he didn’t cow me at all.

  It was easier to do what he asked than to pay the consequences, so most of the time I complied. But I rather liked the world he introduced me to, one in which our planters constantly competed for power. Anthony deftly played the plantation families one against another. It was fun to follow his machinations. And of course, to be told details of affairs none of my friends imagined.

  I’ll say this much for my overbearing nephew: he was frank, open, and amazingly honest. Not only did he trust my discretion, he even solicited my opinion. Though he usually didn’t follow it, he really listened. And then he explained why he’d chosen the course he had. You can’t help liking a joey who handles you that way.

  “Randolph Carr,” said the Ambassador, as if tasting it. “A distinguished name.”

  Lord God, I hated it when they talked down to me. Anth knew it; his hand tightened on my shoulder, in warning or sympathy.

  For the Stadholder’s sake, I let it pass. “Yes, sir.” Our family tended to recycle names; “Anthony” was my dad Derek’s middle name. Randolph was my grandfather, and his father too. We all bore distinguished names; it came with being a Carr, the premier family of Hope Nation.

  Turning back to my nephew, the Ambassador lowered his voice. “Regarding quotas, Mr Stadholder. You promised us more soybeans.”

  “Actually, we didn’t.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Anth’s eyes. It was, after all, a party, and he didn’t care to be cornered on the lawn of Carr Plantation.

  “You certainly never refused. Now I find your people never planted them. We’ve four barges in the pipeline, and the fastship brings word a liner will be along shortly. One of the big ones.”

  Some of my friends couldn’t tell a barge from a fastship; they were colonials, through and through, never mind that we’d had our independence for years. I tried not to look smug. Dad had taught me about the Navy and its ships; after all, he’d served on them. Once, in his lap …

  “Now, son.” Dad had sucked on an empty pipe; he said it made his teeth feel good. “How long to home system by fastship?”

  I’d snuggled closer, warm and comfortable in my youthful pajamas. “Nine months. Oddmented Fusion.” I was five, and nighttime talks were part of our ritual.

  “Augmented,” he corrected gently. “And by barge?”

  “Three years, almost.”

  “And a starship?”

  “Sixteen months.” I tried not to stifle a yawn. “Unless the fish get you.” Bedtime loomed, and if I could prompt an exciting story …”

  “Don’t be daft.” Dad looked down his nose, his lined face settling into a frown, but he didn’t mean it. “Nick killed the last aliens long ago.”

  “What if they come back?” Once, marauding fish had even descended through the atmosphere, to attack Captain Seafort at Venturas Base.

  Dad seized my wrist, raised it, tickled my stomach. “They’ll do this.”

  I squealed my laughter, desperate to get away, hoping I could not.

  Abruptly Dad stopped, squeezed me hard.

  I hugged back, loving the smell of him.

  “Barges Fuse,” he said dreamily. “Fastships Fuse. Liners Fuse. Even the fish knew how to Fuse.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Perhaps someday you’ll join the Navy and find out.”

  “Or go as a passenger.” Only the U.N. Navy had ships that Fused between stars; even at five I knew that. Sometimes, late at night, Dad and his friends in government discussed, at endless length, the dilemma the U.N. monopoly posed. Usually it put me to sleep, curled on the couch or in his lap.

  “Randolph!”

  I blinked.

  “Would you like to go?” The Ambassador waited with a half smile.

  I asked, “Where?”

  Anthony frowned.

  “Sorry, I was … daydreaming.” I tried not to blush.

  “To Embassy House, and spend the weekend with Mr McEwan’s joeykids.”

  Christ, no. Just in time, I refrained from saying it. I cast about for an excuse, found none. “I think so. Sounds great. Can I call after I check with Mom?”

  In Anthony’s eyes, a sardonic glint; he knew a polite evasion when he heard one. “We’ll call you, Mr McEwan. Ah. Colonel Kaminski.” Deftly, he turned to the newcomer.

  “Good day, Stadholder.” To me, “Randolph.”

  I nodded, trying not to look cross. The Colonel was a few years older than Anth, an occasional houseguest, and was as close as a colonial planet had to a spaceman. He’d served two tours at the second Orbit Station, the decommissioned warship Earth had sent us to replace the one destroyed in the war with the fish.

  Kaminski said delicately, “Thank you again for your kindness on the, er, Driscoll matter.” I wasn’t supposed to know about that. A Station hand on leave had run afoul of Centraltown authorities. The Stadholder had intervened quietly to calm the waters.

  Anth merely smiled, and they fell into conversation. As soon as I could, I made my escape to the punch bowl, waited for Cousin Ellen to fill her cup.

  “Ah, Master Carr.” Bishop Ricard Scanlen’s voice was genial. His hand fell on my shoulder. Jesus Christ, should I wear a mousetrap on my collar? Or bite their frazzing fingers?

  Alex Hopewell was sixteen and six feet tall. Nobody ever clamped a hand on his shoulder. Why did I have to be so frazzing short? Yeah, I’d grown way out of last year’s jumpsuit, and Anthony counseled patience, but it was easy for him to say. He towered over me.

  The Bishop’s mouth smiled. His eyes did not. “I didn’t notice your confirmation on the Cathedral’s schedule, joey.”

  The Reunification Church practically ran Hope Nation, from its rebuilt Cathedral downtown. Dad used to have all sorts of trouble with Scanlen and Andori. It was one of the few subjects Anth wouldn’t discuss.

  “Are you ready?”

  I said, “Not yet.” Rituals chewed ass.

  “You’re of age.” Again, Scanlen’s cold smile. “We can’t have you becoming a Jew or a heathen.”

  A Jew or a heathen?

  I couldn’t help it, really, I couldn’t. I gave him my best smile. “Fuck you!” My words rang out, every bit as loud as I’d intended.

  Cousin Ellen dropped h
er glass.

  Appalled, Anthony stared past Colonel Kaminski.

  Across the festive lawn, utter silence.

  For a moment, a horrid sense of guilt. I shrugged it off. So, the Bishop would excommunicate me. I’d go to Hell before I’d put up with him.

  Ricard Scanlen gripped my arm with a claw of steel, dragged me across the lawn. “We’ll see what—” Anthony loomed, his face severe.

  I wrenched loose, dashed away, caromed off Mr Plumwell. Nursing my ribs, I blundered through a gap in the hedge, raced into the woods.

  Prong the Bishop.

  Prong them all.

  Cross-legged on Judy Winthrop’s bed, I devoured a cold leg of chicken, barely taking time to spit the bones.

  Her room was done in girlish pastels, not my taste at all.

  She studied me. “What’s a Jew?”

  I shrugged. “An ancient cult back on Earth?” I waved it away. “Who cares?” I was sure what a heathen was, and it was insulting.

  The Winthrop estate bordered ours; its manse was only two miles past our southernmost marker, fronting Plantation Road. But our demarcation fence was a good five miles from Carr House, where Anthony’s reception had been given.

  A long trudge, but I couldn’t drive an electricar, and I didn’t dare try to hitch. Too bad I couldn’t have swiped a heli.

  After my hike I’d shinnied up their drainpipe, tapped at Judy’s window. Her room was empty; I’d had to squat on the Winthrops’ porch roof an hour before she wandered upstairs to bed, and then I’d scared the zark out of her. After she’d calmed, she’d gone downstairs, pleaded adolescent hunger, and secured my plate of chicken.

  Minor had risen again, and lit the manicured yard.

  Judy eyed the hallway door with some trepidation. “I’ll really get it if Mom finds you here.”

  “Fine, I’ll leave.” My tone was sullen; I tried again, managed to brighten it. “Thanks for the food.” I swung my legs to the side of the bed.

  She stayed me with a palm. “Just keep it quiet.” Then, “Where will you go?”

  I shrugged. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have sought her counsel.

  She rubbed her chin, with a look that meant she was thinking hard. “It’s not just your unc—I mean, your nephew. They’re all aghast. When we came back from swimming they were still talking about you. Where will you stay? I doubt the families would take you in.”

  It figured. The Reunification Church—the only authorized church—represented Lord God Himself. The U.N. Government was His instrument, and ruled Earth and the colonies in His name. Even here in Hope Nation, the Church was paramount. And I’d cursed a Bishop, anointed by Earth’s Council of Patriarchs.

  I stirred uneasily, knowing I’d gone a touch too far.

  “Why’d you have to say it?”

  I opened my mouth, shut it again. How could I explain? I wasn’t sure about God, but I was damn sure I didn’t believe in the Bishop. I told her so.

  “Why not?”

  I swallowed, not liking where her question led. My eyes sought the safety of the bedspread. “Do you remember my dad?”

  “I saw Mr Carr, now and then. Not to talk to.”

  I nodded. When Derek boarded UNS Paragon, Judy had been nine and would have known the Stadholder only as a distant figure. “One night, a few months before he left, I heard him on the caller.”

  She waited.

  “He was arguing with the Bishop. ‘Renounce,’ Dad said softly, as if he couldn’t believe it.”

  “What’s it mean?”

  I shushed her. “It’s something the Church does when they don’t like people.” I toyed with the bedspread. Renunciation was only a step short of excommunication.

  “We could find out. Pa’s friends with Deacon—”

  “That’s not the point, stupid!” I flung down a chicken bone. It bounced. Carefully, I plucked it from the bedcover. “Sorry.” Was I speaking of the bone, or my temper?

  She folded her arms.

  “I was listening outside his study door. I didn’t mean to spy, but … I had meant to, though. My eyes darted to hers, and away, hoping she’d understand. And forgive, added a small voice. I thrust it away. “After the call, he sat there and—and he …”

  “Say it.” Blessedly, her voice was gentle.

  “He cried.” I swallowed a lump.

  Her fingers brushed my forearm. “Oh, Randy.”

  “Later, he told me he was just tired and frustrated. And he was mad I’d listened.” Furious, more like it. Not because of what I’d overheard, but at my lack of honor in eavesdropping. He’d punished me, but he hadn’t needed to. His reproach alone made me feel awful.

  My fingers scrabbled at Judy’s bed linen. “He cried. And Dad was the strongest man I ever … ever …” Abruptly I swung to my feet. “I better go.”

  Her question roped me, pulled me back to the bed. “Ever find out what they were arguing about?”

  “The next day he wouldn’t talk about it.” Surreptitiously, I wiped an eye. “But I won’t take any crap from a frazzing Bishop.”

  Her expression made me glad and scared all at once. “It’ll settle down. If you find a place to lie low for a—”

  A knock at the door. We froze.

  “Judy?”

  “Yes, Mom?” Her voice was a squeak.

  I rushed to the window, tried to raise it silently.

  Her mother’s tone was stern. “Mr Carr’s downstairs.”

  Oh, Christ. I clawed the sash open.

  “He wants to talk to Randy.”

  How did he know?

  “Randy, are you in there?”

  Judy bit her lip, pounded the bed.

  I couldn’t abandon her; it would make her troubles far worse. I gave the drainpipe a last wistful glance. With a deep breath, I strode to the door, swung it open. “Yes, ma’am. I sneaked into Judy’s room. She didn’t know I’d be here. It wasn’t her fault.” I braced myself for the explosion.

  “Really.” Ms Winthrop’s eyes flicked to the half-eaten chicken, proof of my lie. “It’s late, and you’d better go.” Her tone held that careful civility parents sometimes used, outside the family.

  I shot Judy a glance of commiseration, but I had problems of my own. How in blazes did Anth know where to find me? What would he do now? I had not only the Bishop to answer for, but flight from Anthony’s authority. I could look forward to a grim night.

  No, by God. I’d done what I could for Judy. Now I could look after myself.

  In the vestibule, my keeper leaned against a pillar, arms folded. His expression was cool.

  If that’s how he’d play it, so would I. I stopped on the stairwell. “You wanted to see me?” It was the tone I might have used with a servant.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind. Outside.”

  “All right.” Civility worked in my favor, at the moment. To give myself every possible chance I turned, assumed my best manners. “Good night, Ms Winthrop. Sorry to have intruded.”

  She nodded, her mind obviously focused upstairs. She looked ready to bolt to Judy’s room the moment we were gone.

  Anthony himself seemed none too pleased. Well, not only had I insulted the Bishop, I’d embarrassed my nephew at his own reception. To say nothing of making him go begging to the neighbors in search of me. We were a small colony—a mere three-quarters of a million, spread over the plantation zones and a handful of cities. But he was in charge, the equivalent of a colonial governor.

  Politely, I held the door. Anthony slipped outside. So did I, and lunged past him. I sprinted past his waiting electricar, down the darkened drive, expecting with each step his grasp on my collar.

  Nothing. I plunged into the brush; at night, I’d be harder to find off the path.

  At twenty paces I risked a glance backward. At fifty, I slowed. Why wasn’t he chasing me? Did he have Home Guard troops lurking in the bushes?

  He sat on the edge of the porch, arms folded. “Randolph?” He raised his voice, cupped his hands. “It’s i
mportant we talk.”

  Ha. It was important he whale the tar out of me, as he’d oft threatened but never done, and I wasn’t about to let it happen. Not for Scanlen, or any churchman. And he wouldn’t intend any less, after I’d mortified him at his own reception.

  He let the silence stretch. Then, “Randy, I know you hear me. We’ve no time for games. Please, come sit with me. I won’t hurt you.”

  I waited him out, shivering in the night breeze.

  “In fact, I won’t touch you. You have my word.”

  I felt a chill. This wasn’t like Anthony at all. I swallowed, impulsively risked my freedom. “For how long?” I edged my way toward the porch.

  A soft sound, that might have been a chuckle. “We’ll talk as long as you care to sit with me, and then you can retreat to where you are now, if you still want to run.”

  “What about your men?”

  “For God’s—it’s near midnight. The farmhands are asleep, and if you think I’d rouse the government over this, you have less sense than I thought.”

  “You won’t touch me?”

  It was the final straw. “God curse this nonsense!” He jumped to his feet, stalked to the car. “Find me when you’re ready. Even you aren’t worth these games.” He threw open his door.

  Near enough to touch, I thrust aside a juniper. “I’m here.” With a try at nonchalance I strolled to the porch.

  Anth glared. Then he let out his breath, pulled something from the car, strode toward me. I flinched, half expecting him to betray his promise. But it was only my jacket, which he tossed to me without a word. He brushed past, settled on the porch slats, dangling his feet. “Thought you might be cold.”

  Gratefully I slipped it on, sat cautiously by his side. The wood decking was rough, and chilled. No celuwall or plasti-panels here. Not in the Zone. We prided ourselves on old-style construction. Besides, lumber was plentiful and cheap.

  Anth cleared his throat. “Let’s keep our voices down. I don’t want word of this to spread.”

  “Word of what?”

  “What I’m going to tell you.” He eyed me as if making up his mind, then shrugged.

  “Get it over with.” I braced for the inevitable lecture.