Children of Hope Read online

  I’d dreamed of this day.

  “And you still want dinner? Amazing.”

  “You know it? Oh, of course.” Kevin blushed. Seafort had worked and lived on Hope Nation.

  For years I’d yearned for my chance, safe in the knowledge that it couldn’t occur.

  The Captain smiled. “Do they still feature the pork steaks?”

  “With garlic mashed potatoes.” Kev’s face was flushed. “You ought to come down, try some.”

  Mikhael said, “They’re quite good, sir.”

  Sweat trickled down my ribs. Casually, my hand drifted across the table; inadvertently, it swept my cloth napkin to the deck.

  “I’m afraid I’m not quite ready. I’m afraid of liftoff.”

  “Your spine, sir?”

  Today I would justify my existence. Today, Anthony, Mom, Cousin Randolph, would be made proud.

  I leaned over, couldn’t reach my fallen napkin.

  With a muttered apology, I stood, thrust my chair aside, bent to retrieve it. I dropped the starched linen next to my plate.

  “Yes. When we started out I could tolerate one-third gee, so that’s where we set the bow gravitron. We raised it each day just an iota. By the time we got back from Constantine, I could handle one gee, but—”

  I stepped back. In one smooth motion, as if I’d rehearsed it, I raised high the heavy steel chair. With all the force I could muster I brought it down on Captain Seafort’s skull.

  He toppled to the deck.

  Kevin sat frozen, with a look of horror. The little girl screamed.

  Again I raised the chair. Hands pawed at me. I eluded them, brandishing the chair, but my twist threw off my aim. Anselm had me about the waist. Mikhael hurled himself at me, headfirst. He butted me in the stomach. We went down in a clump. Someone kicked me hard.

  “Dr Romez to the Dining Hall, flank!” A harsh voice, on a caller. Someone hauled the middy off me. “Get him out!” A lieutenant, older and gray. “Get them both to the brig, this instant!” Anselm hauled Kevin from his seat. Kev protested. The sailor let loose a mighty blow that rocked his head.

  “Move them out, I said!”

  “Aye aye, Mr Tolliver!” They twisted my arm high behind my back. They ran me out of the Dining Hall squealing with pain, but not before I glimpsed Seafort. He lay motionless on the plush green carpet, one hand outstretched as if in supplication. A slow stream of rust-colored blood seeped into the weave.

  Midshipman Tamarov knelt at his side, clutching the old man’s hand.

  Despite my pain and battering, I exulted.

  Derek Carr, I’ve avenged you at last. Rest easy. Fucking Captain Seafort is dead.

  5

  THE BRIG WAS BELOW, on Level 3. My captors rushed me past the startled master-at-arms to a cell. The hatch slid open. A mighty kick to my rump sent me sprawling. The hatch slid shut.

  I jumped to my feet, rubbed my posterior, paced the cell. Adrenaline made me dizzy. Yes. I’d done it. My night fantasies, the daydreams of years, were achieved.

  You killed my father. You called on his loyalty with honeyed words, put him—a civilian, a head of government—in harm’s way. For your purposes, not his. Not ours. He died for nothing; what matter to Hope Nation if Earth’s government were overthrown?

  He flamed into Earth’s atmosphere, with your stricken ship.

  No funeral. No body. No grave I might visit, in the anguish of the night.

  You took from me all that I loved you vile son of a bitch.

  I paced in near frenzy. Of course, they’d hang me, or shoot me; that went without saying. I didn’t care. In a life as long as Dad’s own, I could achieve no purpose higher than I’d consummated today.

  Still, it would be nice to say good-bye to Judy Winthrop. Perhaps they’d let me do that.

  A flurry of orders on the speaker; in the confusion of the emergency they were broadcast shipwide.

  “This is Lieutenant Tolliver. All med techs to sickbay, flank. Pilot, to the bridge.”

  Behind the voice, distant sobbing.

  Alarms clanged. “General Quarters! All hands to General Quarters!”

  The cell was tiny, about three meters square. A spartan bed hung from one wall, a soiled mattress only, on flimsy springs. “Seal all locks. Prepare for breakaway.”

  My stomach ached where Mikhael had punched me. I sat on the bunk, crossed my arms, rocked.

  “All passengers to your cabins. Remain there until further notice.”

  I jumped up, unable to contain myself. The vaunted U.N. Navy was frantic. It served them right. I resumed my pacing, wall to narrow wall.

  “Midshipmen Riev and Ghent to the bridge. And Lieutenant Frand.”

  What if Anth never learned who’d done it? Would they allow me a final letter?

  Would my name be revered?

  “Lock five, what’s the delay? I want a seal and I want it NOW! We’re breaking away from the Station if I have to decompress your bloody section! Officer of the watch, seal the lock and put yourself on report!”

  I grinned. Tolliver sounded miffed. No doubt it wouldn’t look good on his record, having his Captain killed before his eyes. And by a Hope Nation patriot, no less.

  In time my pacing eased, and I sat again. My legs were shaky.

  After a long while, footsteps. I tensed, knowing they’d come for me. But they passed my cell. The hiss of a door. Muffled words. A cry of fear. Kevin’s.

  I bounded to my feet. “Leave him alone! He wasn’t part of it!”

  “No, please!” Kev sounded frantic. “Where are you taking me?

  I hammered on the door. “Let him go!”

  Nothing.

  I paced, then sat. Then paced. Then slumped on the bunk, and after a time, dozed.

  A rush of cool air. The door slid open.

  I jumped up. Two burly sailors pinned me to the wall. A beefy-faced joey jammed a stunner to my chest. “Move an inch, you little snark!” I froze. He rammed the barrel into my sternum. I grunted, tried not to retch. They spun me around, cuffed my hands behind me.

  “He’s ready, ma’am.”

  “Move him.” A lieutenant, her face set and grim. Her hair was dark and curly, her figure gaunt.

  They half dragged me from the cell. I managed, “Where’s Kevin?”

  “Be silent. LeFevre, gag him if he makes another sound.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am.”

  I clenched my teeth, determined not to give them the satisfaction.

  “All hands and passengers, attention.” Roughly, they hauled me along the passage, out to the curved corridor. More hands than were necessary held a piece of me. “Captain Seafort is gravely injured and is …” A long pause. “… is near death. By authority of Section 121.4 of the Naval Regulations and Code of Conduct, I, Lieutenant Edgar Tolliver, do hereby relieve him and assume the captaincy of UNS Olympiad until—until his recovery.” The speaker went silent.

  Abruptly the party of seamen had trouble holding me. They dropped me to the deck, hauled me up, threw me down again. Punches were thrown; elbows jabbed my sore and protesting ribs. Determined to show I could take it, I did my best not to cry out.

  “You joeys belay that.” The lieutenant’s voice was flat.

  “Aye aye, Ms Skor.” A note of sullenness, perhaps.

  They dragged me along the corridor, into a lift, out along another Level.

  The sign read SICKBAY. A sailor slapped open the door panel. They hustled me in, set me on a table. Waiting were a med tech—perhaps the doctor—and the older lieutenant I’d seen in the Dining Hall.

  “Is he dead yet?” My voice was venomous.

  Lieutenant Skor spun me about, her eyes blazing. I gulped, and was silent.

  “Strap him down!” The slim, graying lieutenant. Tolliver, he’d called himself on the speaker.

  “What are you—”

  “P and D. Shut your mouth.”

  I bridled. “You have no right! I confess! I meant to kill him.” In all the worlds, civilized law prevail
ed. If a defendant denied his guilt though there was evidence against him, he had no right to silence. Sophisticated poly and drug interrogation would reveal his guilt.

  But I didn’t deny responsibility; I proclaimed it. I was safe from polygraph and drug interrogation.

  The med tech looked askance. “If he’s confessed …”

  “I don’t give Christ’s damn,” the lieutenant snapped. “Interrogate him.”

  I shouted, “You can’t—”

  “Sir, with all respect, according to regs—”

  Tolliver thundered, “I am Captain of this ship!”

  The tech wilted. “Yes, sir! Aye aye, sir. Give me your arm, joey.”

  I resisted, and was ignored. They gave me a shot, and another. Rough fingers stripped off my shirt, left me shivering in sudden cold. They loosed my hands.

  I tried to cover myself, wishing I had Alex Hopewell’s build, or even Kevin’s. I looked so damned babyish, pink-skinned and smooth. When I was agitated, my voice squeaked. Like now. “Will it hurt?”

  Lieutenant Skor hissed, “It’s agony!”

  “Stop that.” Captain Tolliver.

  “Lie back.” The med tech.

  They strapped me into place, attached their instruments, regulated the drugs.

  “Who sent you?”

  “Who is your accomplice?”

  “How’d you arrange to get on board?”

  I drifted in and out of consciousness, aware of my babbling, powerless to stop it.

  “Why did you try to kill the Captain?”

  “Where were you born?”

  I’d done right, I was sure of it. But some part of me was loath to reveal myself.

  “How old are you?”

  “Tell us your name!”

  I lay in my bunk, my head throbbing from residual effects of the drugs. I’d knelt clutching the hanging toilet twice that I could remember. There was an acrid smell of sweat. I’d made my shirt into a blanket; there was no other.

  From somewhere, slow, steady weeping.

  I scrunched my eyes shut, curled into a ball of misery.

  A jailer brought me a sandwich, and milk in a paper cup. I was allowed no metal, no implements.

  “What will you do to me?”

  He set down the food.

  “Will they hang me?” My voice had a tremor.

  He turned on his heel without a word.

  “Say something!”

  He slapped the hatch control.

  I sat on the deck, knees drawn up, staring dully.

  Other than the bunk and the toilet, my cell held nothing. Bare walls, of painted steel sheets. A speaker in the high ceiling, and a grille for air. Too small to crawl through, even if I could reach it. The toilet was of steel or alumalloy, beyond my ability to break. I’d tried.

  I couldn’t quite remember my relentless interrogation. Questions, ever more questions. Who … Why … At one point I’d stumbled, desperate to insist that my name was Carlson, not knowing why.

  I must have failed.

  From my interrogators, sudden silence.

  “Oh, Lord Christ.” Captain Tolliver.

  “Sir?”

  “He’s Derek Carr’s son.” A string of oaths crackled the air.’

  Hands grasped my shoulders, shook me. “Why, boy? In God’s name, why?”

  Half awake, I’d babbled on.

  In my cell, I put my head in my hands, ashamed of I knew not what.

  “… Randy?” A voice, soft.

  I jerked awake. “Huh?”

  “Randy?”

  “Kev?” I jumped to my feet, ran to the door. “Kevin?”

  A muttered voice, deep. A protest I couldn’t quite catch.

  “Randy, where are—OW!”

  Silence.

  I pounded the door, then the walls until my fists ached.

  Nothing.

  After a while, I’d had enough. I stood before the unyielding door. “Hey!”

  Nothing.

  “You out there! Jailer, or master-at-arms, or whatever the hell you call yourself!”

  Silence.

  I began to yell. Words sometimes, and when I ran out, just sounds. After a time, I screamed. My voice cracked. I tried again.

  It was hopeless. I was about to give up when the door slid open. Two sailors, one with a billy, and someone I’d not seen before, a civilian. His eye held a glint that made me step back. “What’s this racket, boy?”

  “Who are you?” I made my tone defiant.

  “Branstead. Jerence.” To the sailor, “We won’t need that. Shut the hatch.”

  “But …” Reluctantly, he complied.

  Branstead wrinkled his nose. “Haven’t they let you wash?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  With a grimace, he sat himself on my bunk. “You’re in godawful trouble. Tolliver’s waiting. If the Captain dies, he’ll hang you in an instant. No one will stop him, and I’m not sure I’d bother to try.”

  I swallowed. “I don’t care.”

  “Care, boy. Life’s too short as it is.”

  “Don’t call me ‘boy.’”

  “Why not? You’re an arrogant, spoiled child. Derek would be ashamed.”

  My fists bunched. “Don’t mention his name!”

  “He was my friend.”

  For a moment I was speechless. “How—”

  Branstead’s glare was like ice. “And even so, I ought to take you apart bare-handed, you vicious little shit!” He moved, as if to get to his feet, and I leaped back.

  After a moment he grunted, settled himself. “Your legal position is in limbo.”

  “How were you Dad’s friend?”

  “You’re a citizen of Hope Nation, but you got yourself onto a U.N. warship. You’re an unaccompanied minor; that makes you the ward of the Captain. Whom you tried to kill.”

  I reddened. “Why should I care about my status?”

  “We’re at rest near the Station—it doesn’t violate security to tell you—but under our own power. So our laws apply, not yours.”

  “Are you a solicitor?”

  “No, and you won’t get one. At best, a Naval officer to defend you, but even that’s not necessary. You have no rights aboard this ship; the Captain can summarily execute you if he chooses. Nonetheless, he sent me to advise you where you stand. One colonial to another, as it were.”

  “I don’t need your—”

  “On a warship, the Captain is sacrosanct. For a crewman merely to touch him uninvited is a capital charge. You’re no crewman, but if the Captain dies, your life is forfeit. Even if he lives … Attempted murder with premeditation is itself a capital offense.”

  I wanted to throw something, but had nothing. Even my shirt lay on the bed, next to Branstead. I snarled, “Why the fuck do you care?”

  He stared, saying not a word.

  Time passed. I began to fidget.

  When he spoke, his voice was low. “Randy Carr, as Lord God is my witness, if you curse at me again, I’ll take my belt and thrash you.”

  I struggled not to redden.

  “Is that clear?”

  I stared at the deck.

  He stood.

  “Yeah.”

  He came at me.

  “Yes, sir!” I backpedaled to the wall. It wasn’t far.

  “Ask your question properly, boy.”

  I took a long breath, tried for calm. “Why are you involved? For that matter, why are you on ship?”

  “I was SecGen Seafort’s chief of staff. He retired, I stayed on. But when I found out his next cruise was to Hope Nation, I came along.”

  “Why?”

  “The new SecGen really didn’t need me, and it’s time I saw home again.”

  My breath caught. “You’re that Branstead? The one who gave up Branstead Plantation?”

  “Many years ago.” His lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “I was just about your age, and nearly as obnoxious.”

  “You’re home to stay?”

  “I don’t
know.” He ran fingers through his hair. “All these years serving the U.N… and I never applied for citizenship. I’ve always been a Hope Nation national, except for my years in the Navy.” Naval service conferred full, if temporary, citizenship.

  I yearned to pace, but the cell was even smaller with Branstead visiting. My tone was meek. “I’m sorry for what I said.” I’d thought he was part of Seafort’s Navy, not a fellow Nationeer.

  On the other hand, he’d been Seafort’s chief of staff. New doubts assailed me.

  “Anthony Carr can’t help you. Captain Tolliver is plenipotentiary of the United Nations Government, and has all its powers. He’ll apply U.N. law. Your, ah, nephew will have no say.”

  How much had I told them, in the flickering twilight of confession? Had I revealed our sordid family squabbles? My truancy? My affront to the Bishop?

  Did any of that matter?

  “Edgar Tolliver’s livid. He means to kill you.”

  “What’s stopping him?”

  “Nick would never forgive him. He may do it anyway. I warn you; if Tolliver summons you, none of your insolence. It would be suicide.”

  I closed my eyes. Dad tousled my hair. I was still giggling at his promise to bring home an elephant. “I love you, son.”

  “Mr Branstead?”

  “Ah. Civility.” His tone was dry.

  Cautiously, I crossed to the bunk, sat beside him. “Do you understand why I did it?”

  “I’d ask rather: do you understand what you did?”

  One of my jailers brought a thick, meaty sandwich. He held it before me, spat on it, dropped it on the bed,

  I left it uneaten.

  Branstead’s visit had unsettled me. If Seafort had died at once, I was sure I’d have gone unafraid to execution. If the Captain had been unhurt, I’d have gritted my teeth, endured my punishment. But the uncertainty gnawed at my courage. How could I prepare for death if I wasn’t sure it was coming?

  I’d been punched and jostled. My food was spat on. I hated it, but worse, it disturbed me.

  It was obvious the reactions of the crew weren’t orchestrated. They hated me for what I’d done.

  Which meant they loved Captain Seafort.

  But, why? He was a tyrant, a vain despot who used lives as fodder for his ambitions. Dad had told me tales of Seafort’s heartless sacrifice of his men. True, Dad hadn’t seen it that way; he idolized Seafort, made his follies sound reasonable.