Authors: David Feintuch
I gulped.
“As a joeykid I was so damn mixed up, so sullen. He guided me through all that. Pa had the patience of Job. At times I was awful to him. Finally, I came out of it. Of course I remember Dad—Alexi. I’ll never forget him for a minute. But I love Pa every bit as much.” His eyes were damp. “And when you told me he adopted you, just as he had me … it was like a punch in the gut. I wanted to kill you.”
I drew breath, managed to keep silent.
“I’m an idiot,” he said forcefully. “It took me a few minutes to realize who Pa was. That he wouldn’t forget me, just as I couldn’t ever forget him. I have a sister, Carla. Never had a brother, ’til now. Welcome.”
I stared, dumbfounded.
“I mean it, joey. Welcome to the family.” He held out a hand. I took it, and he enveloped me, began pounding me on the back, almost hard enough to dislodge my lunch. Weakly, I reciprocated.
Afterward, we sat to talk. “Can you … I blushed. “Would you give me some pointers? Things I should do to avoid, ah, you know, getting on his bad side?”
Mikhael grinned. “He’ll forgive misbehavior, but never a lie. Once, when Tad and I sneaked out to play Arcvid …” He colored. “And stand when he comes into the room. Call him ‘sir,’ especially when you’ve annoyed him. He has a thing for courtesy.”
“I’ve noticed.” He’d made me stand when Tolliver came to join us for breakfast.
“He’s worth it. You’ll know soon.”
“I think I already do.” To my surprise, it was true. Mr Seafort—damn it, I couldn’t keep thinking of him as that—forgave me so fiercely he made me forgive myself. For splitting his skull. For letting Kevin die. For …” I blinked hard. “What should I call him?”
“Ask him.”
“For that matter, what should I call you?”
“In public, I’m an officer, Mr Tamarov. In private, like now, I’m Mik.”
“Can I visit you in the wardroom?” For some reason, I felt squirmy, like a puppy.
“Sure.” He grinned. “Let’s go show Pa we’ve made up.”
“I never told him—”
“But I wasn’t at lunch.”
I puzzled that out all the way to Dining Hall.
T
O MY INTENSE EMBARRASSMENT
, Mr Seafort made me take a nap after our meal. It wasn’t, he said, that he thought of me as a baby, merely that I’d been through a terrible day, a rather short night, and an eventful morning.
It seemed churlish to refuse, given that I’d just accepted him as my father, so I found myself trudging off to our cabin, and undressing for bed.
Restless, exhausted, I tossed and turned in my bunk.
It wasn’t until six in the evening that Alejandro’s persistent knock wakened me. “Hi, Randy. Cap’n says time for dinner. Better put on your pants first.”
I rubbed my eyes, feeling as if I hadn’t slept a wink. “Where is he?”
“Dining Hall, with ol’ Mr Carr.”
“Who?”
“Stadholder.”
“Anth’s aboard!” I threw on my work blues.
“Came jus’ before alarm.” He regarded my blank expression. “Didn’ you hear it? ’Bout three hours ago?”
Could I have slept through shrieking sirens? Was I
that
tired? “What now?”
“ ’Nother fish, ten kilometers. Fused right off when they fired.”
I strode to the hatch.
“Hey, joey, your hair. Cap’n warned me once, better not see me like that or he’d …” Alec gestured a swat.
Muttering, I ran to the head, performed hasty ablutions.
Life as Mr Seafort’s joeykid would have its downside.
The Dining Hall was half full. I joined the passengers and officers hurrying not to be late. I quick-walked to our table, determined that the Captain wouldn’t fault me for my manners. “Good evening, sir. Mr Branstead. Anthony.” There were no others at the table.
My nephew rose, shook hands gravely. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, s—” I made myself say it. “Sir.” Somehow, in front of Mr Seafort, it wasn’t embarrassing.
At a nearby table, a florid man stood. Pandeker, who’d wanted to pray at my hanging. He tapped his glass. “Ladies and gentlemen …”
The murmurs stilled.
“Lord God, today is January 3, 2247, ship’s time, on the UNS
Olympiad.
We ask you to bless us, to bless our voyage, and to bring health and well-being to all aboard.”
Anthony whispered to me, “Isn’t that the Captain’s job?”
I bridled, at what might have been criticism. “Mr Seafort is representative of the Reunified Church. But we’ve another representative aboard.”
Anth grimaced. “To keep an eye on the Captain.”
“Who says so?” My tone was hot, but I kept my voice low.
“Jerence mentioned it. The Patriarchs don’t trust him.”
“Those bast—”
His hand shot out, squeezed my forearm. “Don’t, Randy. Never let anyone hear such thoughts.” He leaned close. “Never.”
I swallowed. “All right. Anyway, I’m not sure why he doesn’t say it. The Captain says the Ship’s Prayer at evening meal, in every vessel of the fleet. It’s been done for two centuries.”
“What are you two conspiring at?” Mr Seafort’s tone was genial.
Anthony’s face was mischievous. “Randy’s telling me of ship’s customs. He forgets Derek was my grandfather as well as his dad.”
My face burned. Actually, it was Tad Anselm who’d told me, at our first formal dinner.
We fell to our meal. Perhaps food would help my exhaustion, though my stomach was uneasy.
After a few moments, Anth’s light chat turned serious. “As I told you on the bridge, Captain, Vince Palabee is quite determined.”
Jerence asked, “What do you gain by reassociation?”
“According to Ambassador McEwan, favorable shipping rates.”
“Bah. They can afford it, once you put taxation back in their hands.”
Anthony’s lips twitched. “They, Jerence? You’ve switched sides?”
“We’ve—you’ve—I mean they—damn! Hope Nation’s been free since I was a joeykid.”
“Not technically. We only gained full independence—”
“Three years ago. But under Derek’s stewardship, you went your own way in all important matters. The General Assembly was rather irked.”
Anthony glanced at the Captain. “Sir, is it all right to discuss …” His eyes flicked to me, and back.
“Yes. It’s family matter, all around. Randy, your word that you won’t repeat it to outsiders?”
“I swear.” My voice squeaked.
“Go on, then.”
“Frankly,” said the Stadholder, “I think McEwan’s leading us like lambs to slaughter. He’s so frank, so earnest, that I don’t trust him a whit. If Grandfather had said to resist, others would go along. But they don’t give my views the same weight. And with the Church backing McEwan to the hilt …”
I blurted, “But if Scanlen’s under arrest …”
Mr Seafort turned to me, raised an eyebrow.
I flushed. “I apologize, sir.”
Anth said gently, “In my house, his views were welcome. I thought of it as an apprenticeship to politics.”
“As they are here. But he’ll say ‘Excuse me,’ before barging into adult conversation.”
I wanted to crawl under the table. “Excuse me, may I speak?”
Mr Seafort patted my knee. “You already have. What of it, Anthony?”
“Scanlen’s under arrest, but Henrod Andori disavows all knowledge of illegal acts. If I detain the whole Church hierarchy I’ll foment revolution. And if the Patriarchs learned of it, they’d excommunicate me on the spot.”
“But …” Fuming, I waited for Mr Seafort’s nod. “Won’t they do it anyway, since you arrested Scanlen?”
“Probably.” Anthony sounded gloomy.
Jerence looked thoughtful. “How can you split Palabee’s party?”
“I have some perks to dispense. The new towns need money for roads, public buildings … and the families control road-building, construction, metalworking. I’ve thought of it. I’m not as subtle as I might be, though. They resent it.”
“Perhaps I could help.” Mr Branstead.
The Captain said, “Jerence smoothed after me for years.”
I chewed at a roll. So, we would lose Jerence. Pity. I’d rather come to like him.
They were just serving dessert when the alarms screamed. Tad Anselm raced from another table to help Mr Seafort rise; I thrust the Captain’s other arm over my shoulder. Together we hurried him to the corridor.
The bridge was tense. Midshipman Ghent tapped figures into his screen. Tolliver stood leaning over his console, staring at the simulscreen. There was nothing in sight, save the gleam of the Station lights.
“Well?” The Captain was short of breath.
“A fish, just a moment ago. We opened fire.”
The meal in my gut congealed.
“And?”
“I think we got it. It Fused out. Chris Dakko went tearing down to the laser room. They assigned him a console.”
“How close did it come?”
“Three kilometers.”
Jess came abruptly to life. “Encroachment, one point two six five kilometers! Nonmetallic, interpreting as fish.”
Tolliver fiddled with his console, dialing up the magnification. The simulscreen lurched, refocused.
A fish floated off the bow. In the screen, it seemed only meters distant.
“Station to
Olympiad.
We’ll take the shot.”
The Captain keyed his caller. “Laser room, fire when—”
The fish’s skin swirled. A shapeless figure emerged. A convulsive jerk. It launched itself from the fish.
From a console seat, a ghastly sound.
Mine.
Two holes appeared in the body of the fish. Three. It jerked, spewing propellant. A pulse. It disappeared.
“Look!” Anselm was tense.
The outrider drifted in space, abandoned by its … what? Vessel? Symbiote? Master?
Ever so slowly, it grew in the screen.
Mr Seafort snapped, “Course?”
The speaker crackled. “Olympiad,
do you see it?”
“Intercept,” said Tad Anselm. “Rate of approach … four hundred twelve meters per minute.”
“Laser room!”
“Aye aye, sir, lining up a shot. We have it.”
The Captain said, “Hold your fire.”
Tolliver blinked. “Sir?”
“Edgar, ever see outriders emerge from their host so far from a ship?”
“Well … not that I can think of.”
“Nor I. It makes no sense; they have no propulsive system. They just launch themselves at nearby targets.”
“Sir, we have to take it out.”
“Station Laser Control to
Olympiad.
We’ll take the shot.”
“No!” Mr Seafort grabbed the caller. “Station, hold fire, do you hear?”
“He’ll be upon you in … forty-five seconds.”
“No, he won’t.” To Tolliver, “Take your seat. Portside thrusters, one burst. Move us aside, but bring us to rest relative to the Station.”
“Aye aye, sir, but …” He tapped the thruster controls. “If that demon has propulsion, it’ll change course.”
“We’ll see.”
We were as silent as the cold vacuum Outside, mesmerized by the screen. Growing ever nearer, the alien form quivered once, and again.
“Captain, what are you doing? Take your shot!”
Mr Seafort frowned. “A local Stationmaster, presuming to give the U.N. orders?” When he keyed his caller, his voice was cool. “Thank you for your advice, gentlemen.”
Despite the peril, I grinned. Anthony himself had appointed General Thurman, when the Station finally became ours. I’d met him. The choleric General wouldn’t take kindly to the rebuff.
“Laser room, all consoles on the outrider. If it changes course, open fire at once.”
My eyes were glued to the screen.
The outrider sailed closer. It would miss.
I let out my breath.
It passed us a hundred meters to port, helpless to alter its course.
It receded into the night.
“We’ve got it,
Olympiad!”
An instant later the alien form jerked, splattered into pieces.
Red lights flashed. Jess sprang to urgent life. “Encroachment, four hundred meters!” A new fish.
“Laser room, hold—”
Too late. The fish jerked, pulsed into nonexistence.
I tugged at the Captain’s sleeve. “What is it doing? Why?” My voice was a whisper.
“Shhh.” He patted me absently, indicated a vacant chair. “Don’t worry, son.” He rubbed his chin, staring with great concentration at the screen.
Ages dragged past.
Slowly, deliberately, Mr Seafort keyed on the laser safeties.
Tolliver was aghast. “We can’t defend ourselves without—”
“I know.” The Captain rubbed a knuckle against a tooth.
“I’m glad you’re aware, sir. Please, release the safeties.”
“Let me think.”
Even Anselm looked apprehensive. I chewed at my thumbnail.
A long while passed. Mr Seafort nodded decisively. “Yes. That’s how we’ll do it.”
Tad said tentatively, “Do what, sir?”
“Edgar, stand by the thrusters. Be prepared to maneuver the instant I give the order.” He keyed his caller. “Mr Janks.”
“Master-at-arms Janks reporting, sir.”
“Break out laser pistols and rifles. Arm two squads in vacuum suits, have them stand by in sections three and five, Level 2.”
“Aye aye, sir. May I ask why?”
“I may pipe ‘Repel Boarders.’”
“Lord in—yes, sir.”
“Purser Li!” The Captain waited impatiently.
“Purser reporting, sir.”
“Clear Level 2, sections three, four and five, flank. All passengers, all their belongings out. Put your whole staff on it. Move the passengers below, to Level 4. Do it at once.”
“Aye, aye, sir. But—”
“At once!” Mr Seafort’s fingers stabbed the caller. “Mr Tamarov, report to the bridge, flank!”
“ENCROACHMENT, ONE HUNDRED FIFTY METERS!” Jess was deafening. “Nonmetallic, reads as—”
“Edgar, is it near our tubes?”
“No, toward the bow, sir. The Station will have a shot in—”
“No! Put us in line with the Station and the fish.”
“You’ll kill their shot!”
“This instant, Edgar! Move us, flank!”
“Aye aye, sir.” Tolliver’s fingers flew. “For the record, you’ve lost your bloody mind.” The view in the simulscreen lurched.
The thud of footsteps in the corridor. Mikhael dashed in. “Midshipman Mik—”
“Belay that. You and Ghent, run below to the crew berths, get five men each. All of you into suits. Arm yourselves; Janks will send a man to meet you at the arms locker. Mr Ghent, take your detail to Level 3 section four. Mr Tamarov, to section four, here on One. You’re both young, show me how fast you can move!”