Children of Hope (13 page)

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.”

Ghent was far younger than Mik, curly blond hair, a slight build. For some reason, as if unconcerned, I glanced about, noticed a slight tremor of his legs.

“Mr Carr, I advise you that the charge is capital, in that the victim is an officer in the United Nations Navel Service on active duty. Under said circumstances, you are entitled to the assistance of an officer to act as your defense counsel. If you wish the appointment of a particular officer, every consideration will be given to your request. Else, if you wish counsel, one will be selected on your behalf.”

Ghent’s shoes were spit-polished, his uniform immaculate, his pose stiff. A sheen of sweat gleamed on his forehead.

“Do you wish the assistance of counsel?”

“When will—I don’t—”
A rough rope closed around my neck, chafing the tender skin.
I shuddered.

“If you wish counsel, you are advised to consult with him or her prior to commencement of trial, which is at fourteen hundred hours nominal ship’s time, or two o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Let me think!”

“Do you wish me to return?”

I hunched over my lap, lay my head in my hands. “Give me an hour.”

The moment he was gone I launched myself in a frenzy of pacing. If my ribs ached, I took no notice. I scratched at the walls. No, they were called bulkheads. I must remember that.

I could demand they appoint Mikhael. Fine irony; the middy who’d tried to kill me would try to save my life for having tried to kill his father. No, it would only get him in more trouble, and whatever he’d done to me, he didn’t deserve that.

Anselm, then. He’d shown himself to be fair, intelligent … Mik liked him, and that was a strong recommendation. He’d stood up to Ms Skor; that showed he wasn’t afraid of her. And Seafort apparently liked him; he’d taken Tad into his extended family. If Anselm worked to defend me, perhaps the court would take into account …

It wasn’t right. How could I face myself, putting Tad in that position?

Easily. This was about my life. My first duty was to save it.

No. My duty was to undo the mess I’d made of it.

Would they let Jerence Branstead speak for me? “An officer,” Ghent had told me. Mr Branstead was a civilian. Perhaps they’d bend the rules, to appear fair. He was a hero, they’d have to listen if he—

Dad, help me, if only for a moment. I’m confused, I’m lonely, I need your hand on my shoulder, a quiet word of advice. Please. I’ll pray if you’ll come. I haven’t prayed in five years, and I’ll do it now. Watch.

In a fever, I sank to my knees.

Please, Lord God. If You exist
—
I’m sorry, I don’t mean that.

Yes, I do. So many people believe in You, and I feel nothing. If You’re real I want to face You with honesty. I can’t say I know You exist, but if You do, give me Derek Carr my father, for this most desperate moment of my life.

Please. I don’t know how to beg, but I’m begging.

A long while passed.

Dad what would you do?

There was no one but myself, in a bleak, sweaty cell.

At length I climbed to my feet, knees sore. I sat again on the clammy mattress, rested elbow on knee, put my chin in my hands.

I’d decide alone.

What would Dad do?

Dad wouldn’t be here. He’d have more sense, more pride in himself, more integrity than to sit at a table and bludgeon his host.

What would Dad tell
me
to do?

When at last the hatch slid open I was still sitting, head on hands.

The tense young midshipman, Mr Ghent. “Have you reached a decision, Mr Carr?”

“Yes.” A deep breath. “I don’t wish counsel.” I was rewarded with a flicker of surprise. But he said only, “I will so inform the Captain.” They left me for the night.

In the morning, one of the master-at-arms’s mates brought breakfast. They even allowed me a spoon. Harmless plastic, but more than before.

After I’d eaten, I gathered my courage. I stood before the hatch, calling louder and louder. “Master-at-arms! Hello! Master-at-arms!”

It seemed forever, but eventually someone came. “What is it?”

A sailor, no petty officer’s stripes. “Are you the master-at-arms?

“No, I’m all you get. What do you want, grode?”

I tried to make my tone like Anthony’s, when he was irked. “Get your chief. I’ll speak only with him.”

He looked at me with contempt. “You don’t give orders here.”

“Tell him.” My voice was a lash. I’d heard Dad speak so, tried beyond endurance.

I paced for an hour, before the master-at-arms appeared. “I’m Janks. What do you want?”

“Tell your Captain I won’t go to trial like this.”

“You’re daft.”

“I want a long shower, real clothes that fit and look decent. Everything clean and fresh. A comb. Else you’ll have to drag me to trial and I won’t participate, not a word. Tell Tolliver!”

He frowned at me a long minute, disappeared.

I was a descendant of the Carrs of Hope Nation. I would stand proudly at judgment.

Lunch came. I left it uneaten; my stomach wouldn’t permit else.

I tried prayer again, and found no solace. If there was a God, He wasn’t speaking to me. No matter. It didn’t lessen my resolve.

Two sailors, and Midshipman Ghent. “You’ll come with us, Mr Carr.”

“No.” I sat on the deck, prepared to be dragged.

“To the shower.”

“Is this a trick?”

The middy’s teeth bared in a gesture of disgust. “My word as an officer.”

I knew from Dad that that was sufficient. I got up, allowed them to cuff me.

Instead of the spartan stall in the cell block, they took me down the corridor to a passenger cabin, locked me within. Compared to what I’d known, it was huge and luxurious. The head was clean, ample, well stocked with towels and soap.

Until my imprisonment I’d found showers an unwelcome annoyance, to be had only when Dad or Anth insisted. The cell had changed my views; I understood adults’ appreciation of cleanliness and grooming. If I ever got free, I’d—

My smile faded. I wouldn’t be getting free. Not in this life.

I stood under steaming water for what seemed like hours. At last, I dried myself, went out to the bedroom.

Fresh clothes were laid out on the bed. A stylish cut, an expensive feel. And they fit.

Quickly, I dressed, stood before the mirror and made myself as presentable as I might. I knocked on the outer hatch.

A sailor opened. I stood before Ghent. “I’m ready.”

He held out the cuffs.

“You don’t need them. You know that.” I held his eye.

After a moment, he nodded. “This way, Mr Carr.” His detail fell into step beside me.

Together, we marched into the compartment set aside for the court.

Lieutenant Skor sat at the head table. At the back of the room, a surprising number of officers and crew had gathered. Well, no doubt I was rather notorious.

My eyes darted this way and that.

Mr Branstead was there. For some reason, I was heartened.