Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5) Read online

  Boy looked up, eyes wide like puppy. I turned away quick. Traytaman can’ afford seniment. I made tape tight as I could without hurt too much. Fussin’, I put rest of meds back in kit.

  “’Pologize.” Pook sniffled, his eyes liquid. “’Din’ mean nothin’.”

  No fair. Ol’ man could only stan’ so much. I gathered his head against my chest, rocked, holdin’ tight. “Pookboy gonna be allri’. Stay wid Chang long as he need. Be allri’.”

  Boy healed slowly, but broadspec antibi did its work. I didn’ tell how much I hadda trayfo, each box of medkits. Didn’ matta.

  Nex’ day I asked him, what he do, Karlo so pissoff.

  Pook gave sheepish look. “Tol’ him Ravan don’ know sheet.”

  “What wid you an’ Ravan?”

  “Pipes. Ravan tellin’ Karlo, Mids gotta fin’ new pipe or move lair.” He turned over on cot, wincing.

  “Bah.” I wagged finger. “Joeykit stay outa.”

  “Don’ know sheet.” Voice was stubborn. “He be saying Changman gone glitch. Say—” Pookboy broke off.

  “G’wan.”

  “Naw.” Shook head.

  I got up, went into shop, wonderin’. Knock on door came few min later. I got busy, trayfo jumpsuits an’ cansa.

  Evening, things quiet again. I fed Pookboy can a chicken. Only second day since cutup, didn’ wan’ let him walk ’xcept to johnny. Fed him in cot. He devour chicken, looked round like hopin’ ’nother can.

  Food done, I got up. He put hand on arm, pulled me back. I slapped at hand; didn’ need no Midboy holdin’ like baby.

  “Stay a min.” His voice shy.

  Okay okay, I sat back. Wait ’n see.

  “Dunno whassa matta, Mids argue ’bout water allatime.” He checked my eyes, decided safe to go on. “Ravan be glitched, not Chang.”

  “What he say?”

  “Dat Changman be glitch, sayin’ water be stop. If pipes no good, Mids gotta move, or fix. Betta ta fix, he say. He means if ...” Boy trailed off.

  Couldn’t ask. Pookboy tell or not, when he was ready. Ran my hand through his hair, squeezed neck gentle. Got up, fussed with can, cleanin’ out, savin’ metal parts.

  Pookboy spoke to wall. “If Chang don’ trayfo pipe, Mids take. Bust inta Chang shop.”

  My breath hissed. It comin’ to that, a Neut not safe? Times bad.

  “So I tol’ Karlo dat Ravan mus’ be stupe from sun. If Changman say water be off, Mids oughta lissen.”

  I growled, “Stupid Midboy, think Chang can’t take care a self, hah?” I flattened can, put with rest.

  “Ravan wanna dissme. Karlo say no, but no upbringin’ for joeykit wanna be Neut steada Mid. Tell me ta get out, stay out. I say ta prong hisself steada Bigsis allatime. He go for shiv. I din’ move fas’ enough.”

  “It’ll be okay, Midboy. You wait a while, bring innifo like las’ time.”

  “Maybe. Dunno if I wan’.”

  “Course Pook wan’. Mid gotta live with Mids, no?”

  He didn’ answer. Later, ’fore I turned off light, he asked, “How a trannie get ta be traytaman?”

  Chapter 11

  PHILIP

  I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO know Jared got caught. I wouldn’t have, except for Mom. The night the Bolands came to visit, I stayed awake a long time in the dark, playing with base eight conversions.

  When I heard our guests on the stairs I knew Mom would check on me soon. I turned on my side so she’d see my eyes were still open; then she’d come in. A Pavlovian response; parents worry when their children can’t sleep.

  After a while she looked in, sat on the edge of my bed. “What’s the matter, love child?”

  I smiled. It makes me feel wiggly when she calls me that. “Nothing, Mom.”

  “Need to talk?”

  “Depends. How tired are you?”

  She tousled my hair. “I’m awake.” She lay down on top of the cover. “Coin for your thoughts?”

  I could talk to Mom in a way I never dared with Fath. Not that he’d object, but I had to be careful not to worry him.

  I told her about my day, and listened to hers. After a while, she yawned, glanced at her watch, went into her calming routine.

  I don’t know why I loved her stories about the old days when she met Fath, but they helped me relax for sleep. I let her tell me about the Governors’ Cotillion, and their courtship.

  I’d long since figured out the dates. “That was two years after the monastery.”

  “Yes, he was Senator, and we—”

  “Mom, has he changed much, now that he’s old?”

  “Old?” She giggled. “Well, now that he’s ancient, almost senile, wheezing and tottering to the grave—”

  “Mom! Remember he’s four point four times my age. From my perspective—”

  “I know, love.” She giggled. “And I’m so old, too. Sagging, wrinkled, wheelchair bound—”

  I hugged her, knowing it would make her stop. “What was he like?”

  She fell silent. Then, “I’ve known him in three stages of his life. As a boy, he ...”

  I waited.

  “He wasn’t one I thought I’d fall in love with. So reserved, and painfully shy. So earnest. We were bunkies.”

  “Krane barracks.”

  “On Farside,” she agreed. “He helped me when I panicked on a suit drill. He risked a caning for me, without a moment’s thought.”

  “Sarge was mean to you.”

  “No, she was right. Someday you’ll understand. When we graduated, Nick and I took our first leave together, before reporting for duty. We ... got to know each other.”

  I might have translated, but it would spoil her mood.

  “Years later I was on Wellington when the fish attacked. We didn’t get along that time.” She stirred, glanced again at her watch.

  “And after?”

  “He’d changed. What happened on Trafalgar, between him and the cadets ... or perhaps it was before; I’ve no way to know. He’s seen so much tragedy.”

  A silence. “Go on.”

  “He’s ... vulnerable. He’s as sure of moral issues as he ever was. But he’s lost the assurance he has a right to act on them. He sometimes says he makes things worse every time he intervenes.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Of course not, P.T.” She was quiet so long I thought she’d drifted to sleep. Then, “Politics was hard on him, especially the way his career ended. He’s very fragile. We have to protect him.”

  “What’s worrying him?”

  Her voice grew hesitant. “Can I tell you these things, without your passing them on?”

  I was scornful. “To whom? Jared?” I propped myself up on an elbow, spoke in a solemn tone. “You have my oath.”

  “Lord, you sound like your father. Actually, he’s not worried, just under pressure. They won’t leave him alone.”

  “Who?”

  “The bloody politicians.” She shook her head in exasperation. “They stripped him of office, packed him off in disgrace, but now they want his benediction. You’d think it wouldn’t matter.”

  “Why does it?”

  “Because, beneath it all, they respect him as much as ever.” She gestured toward the window, and the gates. “Every day, those crowds outside. Why do you think they gather, though they know he won’t acknowledge them? He stands for something. Integrity, or honor, or ...”

  I might have heard a sob.

  She clutched my arm. “P.T., it’s not just the Bolands and his old friends in the Navy. We have to protect him from the joeys outside. He mustn’t listen to their pleas. They’ll consume him. He’s too fragile to step back into that—lion’s den!”

  “Don’t worry, Mom, he won’t.”

  A while later she kissed me, and left.

  After a time I heard Father’s footsteps, heading back down to his study.

  I lay awake. Irrational numbers didn’t seem to help.

  The Bolands were visiting. Maybe they’d try to pressure Fath agai
n. Mom was asleep by now, and couldn’t protect him. I put on my slippers, padded downstairs, crossed the soft carpet to Father’s study.

  Inside, all was quiet. I wanted to knock, to ask what he could do to heal his fragility.

  Better to keep silent; asking might worry him. Maybe in the morning I could download some data that would help me understand.

  I curled up outside his door. I’d sit for a while to make sure no one bothered him.

  Voices. I snapped awake.

  “You can’t imagine how sorry I am.” Mr. Tenere. He must have entered by Fath’s patio door, else he would have had to step over me.

  “For God’s sake, Adam!” Father was testy.

  “I didn’t mean—I’m sor—” A pause, for several seconds. “Well. I guess I don’t know what to say, sir.”

  “Very good, Midshipman.” I could hear the tired smile in Father’s voice. “But stammering isn’t the issue. You have to learn you can’t apologize for another’s actions.”

  I shouldn’t listen. It was dishonorable. Nonetheless, I pressed closer to the door.

  “I was apologizing for making Jared what he is.”

  “Goofjuice. The boy’s responsible for his own acts.”

  “Despicable, you called it. I agree.”

  “Adam, you’ve got to get him under control. No, not for my sake, for yours. And his own.”

  “Yes.” A pause. “I just don’t know how.”

  “Tonight was a start.”

  “Shouting at him? How should I follow up?”

  Father’s tone was bleak. “I’m the last one to ask. I destroyed the children in my care.”

  He couldn’t mean me. My brother Nate? Someone else?

  “Don’t, sir. Please.”

  Father sighed. “He’s your son. Do as you see fit. About Richard; I suppose we should tell him?”

  “That Jared was skulking outside his window? To what purpose?”

  I hunched closer. Why was Jared spying on bedrooms? Objectively speaking, he must have some kind of glitch.

  “Richard had a right to privacy.” Father.

  “They’re under a lot of strain, he and Rob both.” Mr. Tenere hesitated. “I’d let it be. They’ve enough on their minds.”

  “If you say so.” Father sounded dubious. “I almost forgot myself, outside. Jared doesn’t know how close he came.”

  “To?”

  “If he were my son ...” I could hear his steps, as he paced.

  “He’d have been better off.” Mr. Tenere was bitter. “Sir, next time—I mean, if you catch him again ...” A pause, as if he were steeling himself. “Please, treat him as you would your own.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  “Very well.” Father’s tone was flinty. “Jared won’t like it.”

  Their conversation drifted. I lay outside the door for a long while.

  I woke to Father’s hand on my shoulder. For an eternity, he looked into my eyes. “What were you doing, P.T.?”

  “I don’t know, sir.” It was the truth. My eyes teared. “I’m worried.”

  His expression softened. “About what, joeykit?” He helped me to my feet, guided me to the stairs. I knew he’d have carried me, if I hadn’t grown so big.

  About you, sir. But I couldn’t say that. “I don’t know, Fath.”

  Gently, he tucked me into bed.

  Three days later Father packed his bag, said his good-byes, gave me a brusque hug, and left for his annual stay at the Lancaster monastery. Mom and I saw him off at the helipad. We walked back to the house in the muggy afternoon shimmer. Feeling self-conscious as I held her hand, I tried to ignore the gawkers peering through the gate.

  “It’s not for long, love. Three weeks and he’ll be home.”

  “I know, Mom.” We paused at the porch steps.

  Her eye narrowed. “If you imagine his trip is an excuse to slack off on schoolwork, guess again.”

  “No, ma’am.” Once a lieutenant, always a looey. “I asked for extra engineering yesterday. I’ll finish it this afternoon, I think.”

  “Very well. Need a hug?”

  I nodded. I usually do.

  As days passed I grew increasingly restless. If I were adult I could leave whenever I wanted, but as a child I was dependent on Mom for transportation. The first week, I could only get her to take me to Rodin twice.

  It was too muggy to play outside, and Jared wouldn’t answer the caller or come to the house. Mom told me to stay away from his bungalow. Never mind why, young man, do as you’re told.

  To spite my tutors, I asked for extra assignments, finished them an hour after I brought them home, and sent them back on the nets with time and date stamp.

  Mr. Skeer said my frustration arose from boredom, and I told him rather sharply that I didn’t see him three hours a week to hear what I already knew. Then I apologized; he really was trying to help me, and occasionally succeeded.

  I got anxious, at times. What Dad called “revving.” I didn’t know why thoughts flashed past at a million miles an hour. I felt out of control, and it scared me. Sometimes good ideas came, but I usually sat biting my nails and picking at my shirt. If Father saw, he’d hold me until I quieted, but then I worried at adding to his burdens, and that made it worse.

  About one thing, Mr. Skeer was wrong: I didn’t need more friends my own age. What counted was getting along with adults. What good was it to understand the social mores of “normal” twelve-year-olds? I wasn’t “normal,” thank Lord God, and I wouldn’t be twelve for long.

  Though I wasn’t all that eager to go through adolescence, if Jared was any guide.

  The fourth day Fath was gone I wandered to the bungalow, figuring Mom’s admonition had probably expired. The door was open; I went to Jared’s room.

  He lay on his bed.

  “Hi.” I pulled a chair to his puter.

  “Get lost, grode.”

  I looked over my shoulder. “You mean it?”

  “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Is this a privacy thing? Did you want me to knock?”

  “No!” He rolled over, eyed me sullenly.

  I headed for the door. “Let me know when you’re human.”

  “I can’t, you frazzing asshole!” He banged the pillow with his fist. “He won’t let me!”

  Many adolescents had problems with coherence, according to my downloads. “You’re making no sense.”

  He sprang up, pushed me to the door. “You jerk! Out, before I—get out!”

  I let Jared push me into the hall, slam the door. I shrugged. He was in one of his moods. I started back to the house, but hadn’t gotten halfway when his window slid open.

  “P.T, wait.”

  I sighed, turned. “Yes?”

  He beckoned me. “Come on back.” The window shut.

  I trudged back to his room. “Well?”

  “Don’t give me that look; it isn’t my fault.” He sat back on his bed, put his head in his hands. “It’s not fair. Dad’s gone crazy.”

  I waited.

  “All he did was yell. I figured that was the end of it.”

  “What happened?”

  “He caught—found me where I wasn’t supposed to be.” Jared’s expression was glum. “He shouted like he’d gone round the bend. I went to my room and waited all night for him to come in and settle things. By morning, it was like he’d forgotten all about it. I went to school like usual.”

  “You aggravate him.”

  “I don’t need that from you, frazball.”

  “Take that back.” My voice was very quiet.

  “Go prong—”

  “Take it back, joey. I mean it.” I stood, trying not to tremble. He was a lot bigger.

  His eyes fell away from mine. “All right, cool jets.” He added, “Sorry.”

  I sat again, glad to end the confrontation. “Go on.”

  “For two days Dad said nothing. Couple of nights ago, he went berserk. Came into my room, said he’d
had enough. More words, I figured. He’s just your father’s rabbit.”

  I wanted to leave, but made myself sit still.

  Jared’s face darkened. “I told him to let me alone, and he laughed. Said he was pulling me out of school ’cause it was doing me no good. Told me I was grounded, couldn’t even leave my room except for bathroom or eating. ’Til my behavior improves,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean. I can’t call you, or have you over. He even canceled my nets! Look!” He flipped on his puter, punched into the networks. Nothing but a blank. “You wouldn’t believe the goofjuice he spouted. God-given talents wasted, why can’t I use my puter skills constructively, yap yap yap.”

  Jar made a face and flopped back onto the bed. “He can’t enforce it, that’s what’s so insane. I can go out whenever I want.”

  “Why don’t you, then?”

  “I will.”

  “But you haven’t.”

  “It’s only been a couple nights, for Christ’s sake!”

  I fell silent at the blasphemy. I’m not sure what else I believe, but I know Lord God doesn’t care for that.

  I stared at the blank screen.

  “Philip!”

  “What?”

  His voice was uneven. “I’m scared.”

  I crossed to the bed. “Of what?”

  “I don’t know. Dad. The way he’s acting. He shouldn’t have gotten that mad. School’s a waste, but it’s something to do. I want to go back.”

  If he saw I felt sorry for him, it would only make him feel worse. “Straighten out for a while. That’s all he wants.” I punched his arm. I knew Jared liked contact games.

  He wasn’t listening. “I’ll show ’em. Both of them.”

  I tweaked his ribs, got his attention. “Hey, ease up. Just do what he asks for a time.”

  “Hands off, grode.” He flipped a pillow at me. Better. More like the old Jared. I flipped it back.

  “Arm wrestle?” He always beat me, and I knew he’d enjoy that.

  “Two Unibucks a throw?”

  “Not a chance.” I hadn’t made that mistake since I was seven. I rolled onto my stomach, put up my hand.

  Jared, fifteen, had weight and size on me. I tried three times, let him believe I thought I could win.

  The third time, he rammed my arm down, flipped me over. It hurt a bit. “Thought you were man enough to take me on, P.T.?”