I RAN MY HANDS THROUGH my hair, tucked in my shirt, anxious to look my best. When they strode through the airlock I stepped forward casually. “Welcome aboard, sir,” I said to Chris Dakko. “Captain Seafort sent me to greet you.”
“Did he.” Mr Dakko’s face was impassive.
“Yes, sir, I’m crew now. Ship’s boy. Kevin, welcome aboard.”
“Thank you.” Kev seemed distant, but I noticed he’d looked me over carefully. I was glad my shoes were polished, my shirt fresh-creased. For the moment, I didn’t even begrudge Mr Seafort my haircut.
As we were still in port, Mr Seafort had decreed he’d meet our guests on the bridge, walk with them to Dining Hall. I gathered that while under way, neither passengers nor crew could approach the bridge. I wondered if that would include me.
The Dakkos had come aboard at the Level 2 lock. Olympiad was so large we were secured to the Station at three separate locks, on three Levels.
As bidden, I escorted our guests along the corridor. Lieutenant Anselm—it was no longer proper to call him “Tad”—had been teaching me to stand at attention and salute; on the bridge I gave it my best attempt, and was rewarded with an approving smile, hastily extinguished, from the Captain. Mr Tolliver, in the watch officer’s seat, merely glowered a bit less strongly than usual.
To my surprise, I wasn’t dismissed; Mr Seafort clapped a hand on my shoulder while engaging in polite chat with Mr Dakko, then gently propelled me in Kevin’s direction.
“So.” The toe of Kev’s polished shoe toyed with the decking. “You all right?”
The adults were talking, pointing at the simulscreen.
“Yeah.” I hesitated. “You still mad at me?”
“I ought to be.” He reddened. “Those weeks in a cell were horrid.” Then, “You recovered from the Church farm?”
I nodded. “You saved my life.”
“Seafort did.”
“You told him where to find me.”
“Let’s stop the bullshit.” Determinedly, he met my eye. “You’ve been a really good friend. I’m sorry … things got messed up.”
“I messed them up.”
For a moment we regarded each other. Then his hand came out.
Fervently, I took his grip.
“Ready, boys?” Genially, Mr Seafort steered me to the corridor. I walked with him, slowly, down the ladder to the Dining Hall. Kevin shot me a glance from time to time. He was wearing his best clothes, no doubt under his father’s prodding, and was carefully showing off his good manners. A. fading bruise was the only reminder of the deacons’ assault.
By now a number of passengers had come aboard, though the hall was far from crowded and many tables remained empty. At our table, Mr Seafort pulled out a seat for me, so I knew I was expected to join them. Tad, er, Mr Anselm, came down too, and of course Mikhael.
I looked about. More officers were present than at previous meals. Some of the passengers were new arrivals—I’d seen them boarding—others were bound for Kall’s Planet, and had returned a bit early from Centraltown.
As usual, dinner started with salad, served on a chilled plate. Mikhael had told me that, under way, our evening meal was opened by the Ship’s Prayer, but in accordance with some ancient tradition it was dispensed with in port.
“So, Captain, how many of your crew are aboard?” It was Mr Dakko’s attempt to revive the faltering conversation.
“Some three hundred. Little more than a third.” Mr Seafort broke a roll. “Astonishing, isn’t it? Hibernia had a crew of seventy. Who’d have thought …”
“Is it progress?” Mr Dakko looked glum. “The economics that result in behemoths such as Olympiad only perpetuate your stranglehold on shipping.”
“Our ships are expensive,” the Captain said.
I recalled that Mr Seafort had been SecGen during their construction.
Mr Dakko said, “Far beyond the resources of even the most prosperous colony.”
“But they serve many roles. Defense, for example—”
“Sir, we no longer need defense. The fish are long gone. In fact, it’s your Navy we need protection from. The coup on Earth—”
“Attempted coup.”
Mr Dakko lowered his voice. “Scanlen and his ilk—” he looked about “—they’re a product of the same reactionary thinking as—”
Alarms shrieked. I sat bolt upright.
“General Quarters! Man Battle Stations!” Tolliver’s voice was taut. Officers threw down their napkins, ran to the hatch. “Captain to the bridge!”
Mr Seafort leaped from his chair, turned gray. I rushed to his side. He threw an arm over me, not from affection, but for support. “Lord Christ, that hurt. Randy, walk me to the bridge. Hurry!”
“Seal all locks! Prepare for breakaway!”
We were halfway to the corridor. At the table, Kevin clutched his silverware, aghast.
“Engine Room, full power to thrusters.”
We made our way, slowly. Mr Dakko slid back his chair, half ran to catch us. He came up on Mr Seafort’s other side. “If you’ll allow me, sir?” He offered a shoulder.
A second’s hesitation. The Captain nodded.
“Disengage capture latches.”
Mr Dakko threw the Captain’s other arm across his own shoulder, wrapped a supporting hand about his waist. Together, we walked Mr Seafort rapidly along the corridor.
Tolliver had kept the bridge hatch open; as we entered his eyebrow raised but he said nothing.
“Edgar, report!” Mr Seafort eased himself into his seat.
By way of answer, Mr Tolliver dialed up the magnification of the simulscreen.
Half a dozen coram satellites lay outward of the Station, in geosync, within a few kilometers.
Just beyond them floated a form I’d seen only in history holos.
A fish.
“Jesus, Lord Christ.” Mr Seafort’s voice was a whisper. “They’re dead. I killed them all.”
Mr Dakko’s mouth worked. His fists clenched and unclenched. The alien floated before us, looking for all the world like a giant goldfish. No fins, of course, and no head, but …
For a long moment Mr Seafort sat frozen, as if afraid. Then he shook himself. “Is the Pilot aboard?”
“No, sir.”
“Just our luck.” He keyed his caller. “Airlock Three, report.”
“Confirm hatches sealed, sir. Capture latches disengaged.”
“Airlock Two?”
“Sealed, sir. And disengaged.”
“Airlock One?”
“Sealed, sir. Latches … there. Disengaged.” On the Captain’s console, three lights blinked green.
“Station, Olympiad is casting off. Commencing breakaway.” A deep breath. Another. Mr Seafort nudged his thrusters. Then again.
I stared at the simulscreen. Slowly, as if in a dream, the Station began to recede.
I moved closer to Mr Dakko, afraid to breathe.
“Edgar, take the conn.”
At the watch officer’s console, Mr Tolliver’s hands flew to the thrusters. “Where to, sir?”
“Jess, course to the enemy?”
“Enemy, sir?”
“The fish, you bloody circuit board!”
“Coordinates 350, 18, 207.”
“I’m sorry.”
Silence.
“Jess, that was to you. I’m sorry.”
“Noted, Captain. Dialogue stored for further reference. Distance two point seven three five kilometers.”
“Laser room, report.”
“Laser room here, sir. Lieutenant Frand.” She sounded calm enough, under the circumstances. “I have Midshipman Sutwin and two ratings. That’s it.” Everyone else was groundside, on shore leave.
“How many consoles manned?”
“Three, sir. The middy’s on one. I can take a fourth.”
“Do so.” Mr Seafort keyed the caller. “Midshipman Clark, Midshipman Tamarov, to the laser room, flank.” To Tolliver, “They’re good for a console each.”
Tolliver grunted. “I’m good for another.”
“I need you here. Where’s Tad stationed?”
“Comm room.”
“They can spare him.”
“I’m on it.” Tolliver snatched up his caller, issued terse orders transferring Anselm to the laser room.
“Laser room, safeties are off.” The Captain slid a finger down the console screen. “Jess, Fusion safety?”
“Calculating. Five hours seventeen minutes six—”
“Damn, we’re massive.”
I tried to recall my physics. Fusion safety was ship’s mass times distance from a gravitational source large enough to … my head spun. I’d barely passed that study unit.
“We’re in range, sir.” Tolliver.
“We’ll hold our fire.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so. How many consoles manned?”
“Six, sir.”
“Out of twenty-four.” The Captain’s tone was grim. “We haven’t much defense. Make sure that no matter what, we man the laser banks guarding the fusion tubes.” Then, “If we retreat, the Station’s unprotected.”
“They have lasers.”
“Not enough. Of course, neither have we. With so many techs ashore, our grid is pitiful. If the fish had only waited a few days …”
“Orbit Station to Olympiad.”
“What is it, Station?”
“General Thurman here. Our laser defense is fully manned. Have your puter coordinate with us by tightbeam.”
“Done. Jess, coordinate as he asked.”
Mr Dakko shook himself. “Sir?” His tone was tentative.
“Not now, Chris.”
“I could man a console. You taught me yourself.”
“Olympiad, we’ve dispatched all shuttles groundside. Withholding fire at the fish until they reach the atmosphere.”
Mr Seafort swung his chair, stared through Mr Dakko, his brow knotted. Then, “Very well. Randy, show him the way.”
“Aye aye, sir.” A proper response; if ever I was on duty, it was now. “Mr Dakko?” With feverish haste, I led him to the stairwell, down to Level 3, to section seven, halfway around the lengthy corridor. It was all I could do not to run.
I rapped on the laser room’s closed hatch. Lieutenant Frand opened. I saluted. “The Captain sent Mr Dakko to take a console.”
She looked past me, over my shoulder. “You’re Navy?”
“Former. I don’t believe the consoles have changed much.”
“Come in.”
Mr Dakko brushed past me without a word of thanks. The hatch shut in my face. Disconsolate, not knowing if I had an assigned duty station, I made my way back to the bridge.
No one had bothered to reclose the hatch. I crept in.
On the simulscreen, the alien loomed. It appeared to be lying dead in space, but on its surface colors pulsed. It still lived.
“Surely it sees us.” Tolliver.
The Captain said, “It’s making no move to throw.” In the holos I’d seen, the fish would grow an appendage, a ropy arm, that spun slowly at first, then faster, until it detached and spewed acid onto its target.
“Shoot, sir.”
“This is Thurman. We’re taking the shot.”
“No, wait—”
I watched the simulscreen in horrified fascination. But you can’t see a laser.
A hole appeared in the fish’s side. Something—blood, protoplasm—spewed.
The fish pulsed, disappeared.
I crowed, “They got him!”
Tolliver whirled. “Be silent!”
Minutes stretched into a quarter hour, a half. I tried not to fidget.
Tolliver said, “All shuttles are groundside; we can call up our crew.”
“They’re scattered throughout the continent.”
“Not really, sir. Get word out in Centraltown—”
“And if fish attack an incoming shuttle?”
“Christ, that would be a horror.”
“Don’t blaspheme.”
From Tolliver, a grunt.
The Captain said, “No doubt Thurman’s already told the Stadholder, but have our comm room send him confirmation. And ask Admiralty House to round up our crew. First chance we get, we’ll call them aloft.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Then, “This is the first fish seen in ages. Why now?
“Lord only knows.”
No. They were wrong.
I hesitated; they’d ordered me to be silent. But they had to be told. A deep breath, before the plunge. “Begging your pardon, sir. But a fish was seen a few weeks ago. I’m sorry I spoke.” Inwardly, I cringed, bracing for their explosion.
Mr Seafort’s expression was odd. “Where, Randolph?”
“Near Three. A local mining ship.”
“Randy, are you making this up? Do you need attention?”
I said indignantly, “No, sir. Ask Mr Anselm or Mik—Mr Tamarov. They heard. Groundside, at the terminal. The naval desk, the day I met them. They were joking about local officers and—” I was babbling; I clamped my lips shut.
Mr Seafort keyed his caller. “Lieutenant Anselm to the bridge.” He put his fingers together. “Fish, in system, and I wasn’t told?”
It wasn’t long before Tad appeared, breathless. He confirmed what I’d said.
“That fish by Three, did it throw?”
“I heard this thirdhand, sir, from an Admiralty clerk. It was gossip about a local ship. Everyone discounted the report; why would a fish confront us without throwing?”
“Very well. Thank you. Dismissed.” Mr Seafort took the caller. “Now we ask Thurman.”
It took an hour or so, but finally we had the story: an intrastellar ship, a green comm crew. Had they seen a fish, or an unidentified blip? They used their only laser, and the object disappeared. They’d made a report, but it was played down. No, discounted entirely. No one wanted to look foolish. And no fish had been seen in decades.
Tolliver said, “Sir, if they’re back …”
An alarm clanged; Jess came to life. “Encroachment, three hundred meters to port! Nonmetallic. Closing seven meters per second, advise—”
“Tolliver, fire portside thrusters. Get us out of here! Laser room, do you have a shot?”
“Switching consoles, sir. A few seconds.” Ms Frand sounded harried.
Tolliver urged, “Shoot the moment we’re able, sir.”
“We’ll have to. He’s too close.”
Tolliver rammed the thrusters to full, but the fish had brought its own inertia. It gained on us.
Its skin seemed to swirl, become indistinct.
“Sir, it’s forming an—”
“I see it.” The Captain’s voice was grim. His fingers stabbed at the console. “All personnel to suits! Closing corridor hatches.” The bridge hatch slammed shut behind me.
Each circumference corridor was interspersed with hatches, at the end of every section. When closed, they blocked movement through the corridors. For that reason, even at Battle Stations, they were kept open.
But if corridor hatches were closed, a breach in the hull wouldn’t decompress more than one section.
A chill ran down my spine.
“WE HAVE A SHOT!” Ms Frand’s voice rattled the speaker.
“Take it!”
A figure grew from the swirling hole in the fish’s skin, separated. It launched itself at Olympiad.
The fish spewed a hole, then another. A third.
Mr Seafort pounded the console. “Get the outrider! All lasers open fire, flank!”
The swirling shape that had detached from the fish sailed closer. Abruptly, it flew apart. Feverishly our laser beams sought and destroyed its remnants.
Behind it, the skin of the fish was gray and still.
Tolliver’s tone was dry. “I thought those days were behind us.”
“Lord preserve us.” Mr Seafort let out a long breath. He turned, saw me. “Get into your suit!”
My voice quavered. “I don’t know how, sir.”
Tolliver was out of his seat. “I’ll dress him.” He threw open a locker, found a small suit—they came in three sizes—and lifted my leg, guided it to the torso opening. I struggled to help.
“You too, Edgar.”
“The moment you do, sir.”
“I choose not.”
“Then so do I.”
“I’ll pass out if I try to contort myself. Get yourself suited.”
Tolliver’s tone was reluctant. “Aye aye, sir.” With effort, he got me buckled in. “Here’s your helmet, boy.” He plopped it on my head, checked the seals. “See that green light? When it turns yellow, switch tanks.”
“How?”
“I’ll have to show you.” Swiftly, he donned his own suit. “Captain, we can’t stay suited.” Tolliver’s voice was muffled. “It’ll be hot, and everyone’s tanks will need changing. How long must we …”
“ ’Til it’s likely they’re not coming back.”
“And when do we decide that?” Tolliver trudged back to his seat. “Did you notice something odd, sir?”
“What?”
“It didn’t form a throwing arm. That’s their primary weapon for ship-to-ship combat. Why not use it?”
“No one wrote us an instruction manual on fish, Edgar.”
“And what’s it doing here? We know they’re summoned by Fusion, but no one’s Fused.”
“We did, to get here.”
“Weeks ago, only once. If they’re back, why wouldn’t they go to home system?”
“Perhaps they have.” The Captain’s tone was bleak. He leaned back, closed his eyes.
“Can I get you anything, sir?” I raised my voice, to be heard through the helmet. A stupid question; there was nothing I could do to help, save stay out of the way, avoid bothering him.
“Yes, my boy. Coffee, from the officers’ mess. I’ll open hatches for you.”
“Aye aye, sir.” I tried to keep the astonishment from my tone. I clambered through the hatchway, along the silent, empty corridor. Thanks to Alejandro, I knew the way. Where was his battle station? I’d have to ask. Perhaps it was mine.
At the mess the pot was half full, and warm. Awkwardly, through my thick gloves, I poured a cup. He took it black, I’d seen. I trudged back to the bridge. Too bad I had a mere vacuum suit, not a thrustersuit. In the holos, heroic spacemen zoomed back and forth from ship to launch, propelled by their thruster tanks.
I handed Mr Seafort the coffee. Inside my suit I was sweating freely. I longed for cool ship’s air. On the simulscreen, the dead fish floated, evil and menacing.
“Thank you.” He sipped. “Lord God, son, I never meant to drag you into this.”
“I don’t mind, sir.” To my utter amazement, it was true. I ought to be afraid; we were in deadly peril. On the other hand, I had a place on Olympiad, an apprenticeship I rather liked.
Strange, the things one thinks of, at a time like this.
I had a job. A guardian. A home.
An hour later, Mr Seafort released us from our suits. I found mine easier to get out of than into. Mr Tolliver made me hang it properly, in the bridge’s storage locker. No sooner did I breathe a sigh of relief than the alarms screamed anew. The bridge hatch slammed closed. Another fish.
Within seconds the laser room lined up a shot. It looked like they got him; he—it—disappeared from the screen.
Tolliver and the Captain exchanged glances. “Now what?”
“We wait.”
No suits, thank heaven, but a full four hours on high alert. I found it astonishing how quickly danger transformed into boredom. I didn’t dare ease myself into a watch chair, even if the middies of the watch weren’t present. Instead, behind the console seats, I quietly settled on the deck, knees drawn up. There was little to do but watch the simulscreen. I wasn’t sure either Mr Tolliver or the Captain remembered I was there, or how they’d react when they found out. Still, I hadn’t been ordered elsewhere.
Tolliver said tentatively, “We could begin ferrying crew aloft, sir.”
“Not while fish are about. The shuttles are defenseless.”
“There’s none here now.”
“Damn it, Edgar!” Mr Seafort slammed the padded arm of his chair. Then his lips moved silently. “Amen. Sorry. Nerves.”
“My point’s still valid.”
“In the war, they went for lifepods and launches. All it takes is one fish at a shuttle, and we cause a horrid disaster.”
“Sir, one fish at our fusion tubes, and the Navy’s finest ship is gone.”
“This isn’t like the old days, Edgar. We’ve more banks of lasers defending the tubes than any other sector—”
“Good. We can defend ourselves while sailing to Fusion safety.”
“They’re acting strangely. If we flee, we won’t know why.”
“We don’t need to know.”
“And a flotilla of fish can take out a Station.”
“Believe me, sir, I recall it well. Just promise me, no nukes this time.”
“That’s not funny, Edgar.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
The speaker came to life. “Laser room to Bridge, Lieutenant Frand reporting.”
“Go ahead.”
“Mr, ah, Dakko is inquiring about his son. You left him in Dining Hall. He’d like leave to see him.”
“We can’t spare him from the console. Let them visit in the corridor outside the laser room. Send someone to fetch—”
“I’m here, sir.” My voice was too shrill, and Mr Seafort jumped.
“Very well. Randy, find young Mr Dakko. I might as well reopen corridor hatches; we can shut them rapidly enough if needed. Get Kevin from the Dining Hall, take him below to the laser room. He’s not to go in; make sure Lieutenant Frand knows that.”
“Aye aye, sir.” I was proud of my response. It was becoming ever more natural.
“Good lad. Hurry, now.”
“And after?”
He hesitated, ever so slightly. “Report back here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s still ‘Aye aye, sir.’”
“Aye aye, sir.” Blushing, I made my exit.
Without the burden of a vacuum suit, the corridor hatches opened, my trek was a pleasure. I’d been told never to run, but the corridor was deserted; officers and crew hadn’t been piped down from Battle Stations. I loped past the stairwell, past the armory, the officers’ mess, skidded to a stop at the ornate hatch of the Level 2 Dining Hall.
No one had told the passengers to return to their cabins; they clustered about the tables, standing, sitting, talking anxiously.
Kevin sat at the table that had been the Captain’s, hunched over, staring at the deck, twisting a napkin. My shadow fell over him. He looked up, his eyes bleak. “Is Dad all right?”
“Mr Dakko? Sure. He’s asking for you. Come on.”
I led him to the corridor, toward the stairwell.
“Isn’t he on the bridge?”
“Nope, the laser room. We were short on laser techs.”
“He’s shooting fish?” Kev sounded incredulous.
“Sure. He’s an old Navy hand.” We ran down to Level 3.
Section seven was almost halfway around the disk. A long hike, in a ship the size of Olympiad.
Kev glanced at my uniform, somewhat wilted after an hour in a suit. “So … you like it here?”
I tried to sound nonchalant. “Kinda.” We passed through section five. I grimaced. I wasn’t being honest. Besides, why hide it? Without Kev’s help I’d be in torment on the Bishop’s training farm. “It’s great. Mr Seafort has—”
Alarms suddenly shrieked; a red bulb at the hatch panel blinked. The section hatch slid shut. I whirled, hoping we could get through before it locked, but the corridor hatch seal hissed into place.
“Stand by for attack! Laser room, fire!”
“Oh, shit.” I didn’t know I’d spoken aloud.
“Attention all passengers and crew.” Mr Seafort’s voice was taut. “A fish just Defused meters from the hull, within our circle of fire. An outrider is emerging.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Easy, Kev.”
“All hands to suits! If it melts through the hull, a section will decompress.”
Kevin shook me. “Get us suits!”
“I don’t know where!” No one had told me yet.
“Find them, you stupid—”
Did each section have a suit locker? I couldn’t remember. Alec was barely twelve, and his instruction was a bit haphazard. I ran to the end of the section. No locker. Perhaps the other way … I cannoned into Kevin, dashing after me.
I picked myself up, raced to the closed section-four hatch.
“Outrider launched!”
I threw open a locker. “Here!” I hauled out a suit.
New alarms clanged. “Hull breach imminent, Levels 2 and 3! Decompression alert, Level 2, sections four through seven!”
“Christ, that’s us!” I tossed a suit to Kevin.
“How do you …” He trailed off. A moan.
I followed his gaze. Smoke curled from a patch of bulkhead. An acrid odor drifted across the corridor.
“COME ON!” Dropping the useless suit, I dived for a cabin. It was locked. I tried the next. Locked. A third—
The hatch slid open. “Kev, move!” I hauled him through, pounded on the hatch control.
A puff of air. A wind, as the hatch slid shut.
We were in an empty cabin, cleaned and ready for its occupant.
The hatch panel warning light blinked red.
Outside our refuge, section five was decompressed.
They’d told me cabin hatches were airtight. Unconsciously, I held my breath, waiting to find out. Dad had died in just the same circum—
DONT THINK OF IT!
Kevin, his face pale, made himself small in a corner. He chewed at a fingernail.
The Captain’s voice blared on the cabin speaker.
“Decompression Level 2 section five! Master-at-arms Janks to section four, flank! Fully armed and suited. Class A decontamination procedures. Evacuate the section, we’ll make it an airlock to five.”
I roused myself. The other night, exploring my own cabin, I’d found two suits in a locker by the closet. Every cabin was supposed to have them. I threw open the closet hatch, hauled them out.
“Quick!” I thrust in a leg, realized I was trying to don the suit backward. “Kev, get moving!” I had my legs in, twisted wildly, managed to fit in an arm. The suit was way too big, designed for a large adult.
In slow motion, Kevin picked up his suit. “Where’s my father?”
“Laser room.”
“Take me there.”
“When it’s safe. Hurry. If that beast burns through …” I got my other arm in.
Kev stood helplessly, holding his suit.
I needed my helmet. We might decompress at any moment. But if I sealed my helmet, I’d never move well enough to help him. Cursing, I tossed it on the bed. “Your foot goes in like this …” My hands were almost useless, working through the thick gloves. Why had no one ever designed a convenient pressure suit? “Now the other. That’s it, joey.” My voice was soothing, as Mr Seafort’s had been. I thrust aside the thought. “Hurry, Kev. Bend your arm, this way. We’ll be all right. Now the other.”
His helmet was still in the locker; I grabbed mine, thrust it on his head. “This twists on, and then those clamps …” In a moment it was done. Thank Lord God, Mr Tolliver had shown me how.
I scrambled to the locker, fell on my face. Walking was harder in a suit, I knew that. Think, Randy. No time for panic. I fished out the helmet, and two spare tanks. The locker held four spares in total.
I pulled on my helmet. “Kev, I’ll check your clamps, you check mine. We have to get it right the first time.”
“Mr Janks, section five camera shows an outrider roaming the corridor. It’s burned into a handful of cabins. Use extreme caution. Is section four evacuated?”
“Checking the last cabin, sir.”
A muffled voice. Then, “What? No, Mr Dakko. I don’t know. Mr Janks, is the ship’s boy with you? Mr Carr, or his friend?”
“No, sir.”
“I think they’re tight, Kev. Is your tank light green?”
“Which one—”
“Inside the faceplate, left side.”
“When we open, if you see a suited figure …” A long pause. “No, first priority is the outrider. Kill it at all costs.” Mr Seafort’s voice was heavy.
“Even if …”
“At all costs.”
Mesmerized, I stared at the hatch, the caller, the bulkhead, waiting for acrid smoke to curl in our precious air.
All we could do was wait.
“Captain, Lawson is on his way back from the armory with laser rifles. If you give us another minute …”
“Very well.”
Kevin’s cheeks were wet.
Randy, you idiot, the caller. I snatched it up, in clumsy fingers. How does one call the bridge? How does one call anywhere? No one had taught me the system yet. Wait. I’d once called the purser. There was a button … there.
A buzz. Nothing. Then, miraculously, as if it were an ordinary day, “Purser’s office.” The voice was faint.
All I could do was shout through my helmet. “This is Carr! Connect me to the bridge!”
“Who?”
“Randy Carr, the new ship’s boy!”
Clicks. A pause.
“Bridge. Seafort.” I could barely hear through the hindrance of the helmet.
“Sir, it’s Randy. I’m in—”
“Thank God!”
“—a cabin in section five.”
“Are you suited?”
“Yes. So is Kev.”
“Which cabin?”
“I dunno!”
“Look on the control panel.”
I did. I ran back to the caller, feeling an idiot. “Two fifty-seven, sir!”
“Randy …” His voice was quiet. “The corridor camera shows the outrider just outside your hatch.”
I whimpered.
“It may burn through to the cabin. Both of you, squeeze into the closet, shut the door. Master-at-arms, are you ready?”
“We’ve a dozen lasers aimed at the section hatch. Willnet’s squad is guarding the section six hatch, just in case.”
“They skitter fast, Mr Janks. Don’t let it get you.”
“I can’t hide, sir! Not if I …” I gulped. “I can’t let go of the caller.” To die was one thing. To die alone was quite another.
“Use your radio.”
“Radio?”
Lord knew what effort it required, but Mr Seafort made his voice calm. “Look to the belt at your waist. See the pad? Use frequency seven. Turn it on. Speak into the faceplate.”
“Like this?”
“No need to shout.” His voice echoed, close and reassuring. I dialed down the volume, ran to Kev, made the same adjustments on his belt as on mine. “Kev, hide in the closet. Captain’s orders.”
He swallowed. “It’s dark there.” He sounded like a small child.
“Hurry.” I pulled his gloved hand.
There was barely room for both of us. If I squeezed in first, I doubted I could coax Kevin in. I tugged at him, maneuvered him into the storage space.
The cabin bulkhead began to smoke.
“Randy, hide! Janks, I’m opening the corridor hatch for you. Hurry!”
The alumalloy bulkhead plate dissolved. A whoosh of escaping air, then absolute silence, save for the frantic sawing of my breath.
A form quivered at the entry.
Desperately I pushed Kev deeper into the closet; there wasn’t space to shut the door.
“There he is! Fire!” I couldn’t be hearing the speaker; there was no air. It must be my radio.
The bulkhead hole enlarged; the form spurted through. The torn bulkhead glowed red from laser strikes.
“Mr Seafort, it’s in the cabin with the boys! I’ve no shot without hitting them!”
I squeezed my fists, summoning the dregs of my courage. “Sir, take the shot! Kill it!”
“Janks, what’s it doing?”
“I can’t get too close without… it’s standing there, sir.”
“Hold your fire.”
“You said … first priority was …”
“I know, but … wait. If it moves toward the boys, toward the bulkhead, anywhere, burn it. But if you can save our joeys …”
The outrider stood no more than three steps from me. Stood? It had no feet, nothing remotely like them. Colors swirled in its suit. No, in its skin. I’d read that in biology, years ago.
The alien form quivered. In an instant it would skitter our way, and overwhelm me. I’d feel the touch of acid as my suit dissolved, then nothing.
Abruptly it changed shape, seemed to shrink. Was it burning through the deck? It didn’t seem so.
Kevin gripped my shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re not stupid. I don’t know why I said it. I really like you.” His voice was soft in my radio, though the alien couldn’t possibly hear him in vacuum.
The alien quivered. Its outer skin bulged, extended toward us.
“Not like this.” A sob. “I can’t die in a closet.” Kev tried to squeeze through.
It made no sense. “Mr Seafort!” I braced myself in the closet doorway.
“I hear him. Hold on, Kevin. We’re trying—just a—” A click. Silence. Kevin hammered at my shoulder blades.
“Captain, Janks here. Any shot that hits that—that—thing will go right through it and …”
With a frenzied effort, Kev twisted past me, faced the shifting figure. Desperately, I wrapped myself around his leg. “Mr Seafort, I can’t hold him—”
“Kevin?” An agonized voice. “Kev, this is Dad!”
“Daddy, it’s just staring at me. No eyes, but I know it sees me. You know what?”
“What, son?”
“I’m not brave enough.” He sounded hurt, puzzled. “I guess we’ll never have a fleet. I’m … so sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t do anything stupid—”
A wrench, that nearly undid my grip. “Mr Seafort, Kev’s pulling us toward—”
“Janks, take the shot!” The Captain.
“KEVIN! I LOVE YOU SO—” “Daddy!” A frantic kick. He slipped out of my grasp, made a shooing motion at the outrider.
The alien be damned. I launched myself from the closet, wrapped myself around Kevin’s neck. “No, Kev!”
He threw me off, aimed a wild kick at the quivering form. “Out!” His boot grazed the alien’s midsection.
The outrider convulsed, flowed toward Kev.
He screamed, fell back atop me.
“Fire!”
A whine in my suit speaker. A half-dozen holes pierced the alien form. It flew apart. Protoplasm flew past my faceplate, sizzled on the deck. I shrieked.
Kev bucked and heaved. His elbow slammed into my gut; even through the stiff suit it caught me a mighty blow. We toppled.
A shuddering gasp.
“Where’s my son? Captain, what’s happened to Kev?”
“I’m not sure, Chris.”
“Save him, God damn you!”
Slowly, almost deliberately, I got to my feet. My visor was fogged; my vehement exercise had overtaxed the cooling. I pounded the hatch control. The hatch opened.
On my radio, chatter, incoherent shouts, but I no longer listened. Carefully, I edged my way around the blobs of alien protoplasm, past white plastiflex boots.
I keyed my radio. “Ship’s Boy Carr reporting. To the bridge.” My voice sounded odd, even to myself.
“Randy—”
“I’m out of the cabin. My tank light is yellow. The outrider is … dead. Kevin’s … lying down. What do I do now, sir?”
“Janks, Class A decon!”
“Aye aye, sir. We’ll slap on a hull patch, flank, and re-air the section. Set up section four for full decon!” It sounded like an order.
“Get to it.”
“Sir?” My voice was shrill. Odd, but my hand was shaking. Nerves. I was all right, I thought. “That outrider?”
“It’s dead, son. Stay where you are, Mr Janks will come for you.
“Yes, sir. I mean, aye aye, sir.” There was something else I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t concentrate. I slid down the bulkhead, waited peaceably for decontamination. It would be easier if I had Kevin to talk with.
They sprayed my suit over and again with harsh chemicals. Then, ever so carefully, cautioning me not to touch the outer material, they bade me step out of it. My clothes were taken to be burned. A suited sailor hosed me down, first with strange-smelling chemicals, then with soapy water. Then a long, determined rinse.
In sickbay Dr Romez gave me two shots, then two more. I had to lie down, though I didn’t want to.
The Captain called from the bridge, but I chose not to answer. Instead, I curled in a ball on clean white sheets.
Tad and Mikhael came to sit with me. They were more gentle than necessary; I’d gotten over my shakes. I asked, “Where’s Kevin?”
They exchanged glances. Tad said, “He didn’t make it.”
The laser hadn’t hit him; I knew we’d toppled away from the hole in the bulkhead through which Janks fired. I asked, “What do you mean?”
“Kevin’s dead.”
He watched me, as if expecting me to bound screaming from the bed. Or perhaps dissolve into hysterics. How little he knew me. My only concern was that my hand shook a bit. I said, “Don’t be stupid, that can’t be.” A ship’s boy mustn’t be rude to a lieutenant. They’d probably find a way to punish me; make me stand in a corner until Kevin came back. I would do it, no matter how my calves ached.
Tad’s voice was implacable. “He’s gone.”
“May I, sir?” Mik tapped his arm. “Randy, remember the men outside?”
“Janks. My jailer.” I curled my fingers. For a moment, my hand was still. Then, the tremor.
“When they fired their lasers, the alien came apart.”
“Pieces flew past my helmet.” I’d recoiled, desperate to avoid the acid.
“But not past his. It was quick, Randy. I doubt he felt any—”
“You’re lying.”
Anselm pulled him away. “Let him rest.”
I drew up my legs, lay on my side, stared at the bulkhead. I was in an obstinate mood; if they wanted me to sleep, I’d show them. I would stay awake.
Minutes, hours, years passed. The Captain stood down Olympiad from Battle Stations.
I tried not to doze.
“… me see him.”
“Sir, his body isn’t in condition to—”
“Move aside or I’ll go through you!” Mr Dakko’s voice was savage. “This instant, you fucking—”
A rustle. Silence.
“Oh, God! Oh, Kevin, no.” A deep rasping breath. Then another. “Oh, no.”
A sob. A terrible sound.
Slowly, I crawled out of bed. I found night shoes, slipped them on. I padded to the hatch.
In the next cubicle, Kevin lay on a bunk, zipped in a translucent plastic sack. Part of his neck was eaten away. One eye was gone. The other stared at eternity.
Mr Dakko sat nearby, his hand on his son’s.
I slipped into a chair, took his other hand, slipped his fingers into mine. “We’ll stay with him.”
Mr Dakko nodded, as if it made perfect sense. He started to speak, shook his head, squeezed my fingers so hard I started from the pain. He said, “I lived for him.”
I rested my cheek on his shoulder.
His voice was a croak. “And I failed him.”
“No, sir. I did.”
“Where are they?” Mr Seafort, outside.
Murmured voices.
His face gray and set, Mr Seafort hobbled into sickbay. He stopped behind Chris Dakko, rested his hands on his shoulders.
Mr Dakko leaped to his feet, charged the Captain, rammed him into the bulkhead. Mr Seafort’s breath caught.
Mr Dakko snarled, “Don’t speak! Don’t you dare speak!”
Paralyzed, I braced to watch the murder I hadn’t achieved.
Mr Dakko’s mouth worked. Slowly, his face crumpled. As he sagged, Mr Seafort caught him, pulled him close.
In exhaustion or defeat, Mr Dakko’s head fell to the Captain’s chest.
The two stood together. Mr Dakko’s shoulders shook.
At last the Captain murmured, “Chris, I’m so terribly, terribly sorry.”
A muffled voice.
“What?”
Mr Dakko cleared his throat, repeated, “Did I hurt you?”
“No. Not—well, a bit, but I’ve endured worse.”
A long silence. “Kev was my only son.”
“I know.”
“It’s years since I saw my daughter. He was all I …”
The Captain’s fingers flitted to Mr Dakko’s cheek, pulled away as if burned.
“And he died in terror.” Mr Dakko’s voice was bleak.
“Chris, it was over so fast, he didn’t …”
“Brave? Why in God’s name did he think he had to be brave?”
The Captain said gently, “Because you were.”
“Those years ago when they attacked Challenger, I was in panic. I never told him otherwise.”
“You did your duty.”
“Look at him, torn apart by that—that beast. Why him and not Randy? Kev’s worth ten of that silly—”
“Not that way, Chris.”
A long shuddering sigh. “I know.” Again, to me, louder, “I know.” It passed for apology.
“He’s gone,” said the Captain.
“Christ, I know.”
“And you’ll miss him the rest of your life.” Mr Seafort’s gentle voice was inexorable.
A soft sound of despair. Mr Dakko’s head slumped to the starched blue jacket.
The Captain said, “May I mourn with you?”
An almost imperceptible nod.
“Come, Randy, help me kneel.”
I did, but when he beckoned me to join them, I shied away, retreated to my lonely cubicle, crawled into the bunk. Mr Dakko couldn’t abide the sight of me; my very presence was an indictment of his son. Very well; I’d live alone.
Now and forever.
I lay on my side, knees drawn tight. From Kevin’s room, murmured voices.
I tried not to hear.
“You’ll take him groundside?” The Captain.
“When it’s over.”
“For you, it’s over, Chris.”
“No, it’s not!” A pause, and Mr Dakko’s voice softened. “Captain, let me—no, I have to stay. To see this through. Else his death means nothing.”
“That’s not rational.”
“Forty years ago you wrecked my life!” Mr Dakko’s voice was fierce. “You and the God damned fish! Don’t scowl, I’ll say what I like!”
A murmured reply.
“Yes, wrecked it. I had security, doting parents, confidence, an ordered world …”
“… my fault?”
“Oh, you saved us, sir, but Christ, the cost! Remember that poor middy, Tyre, who died ramming the launch into a fish? That deluded woman you shot?” For a moment, silence. Then, “Over time, as an adult, I became rather proud of what I’d done, what I’d been.”
“That’s as should be.”
“Bah. On Challenger, for once I faced myself. That was all the heroism I could muster.”
“You rose above yourself.”
“For what? I survived, and built a life here in the colony. Now it’s wrecked, and there’s no retrieval. My poor Kev!”
“Easy. Here, squeeze my hand. Let it hurt us both.”
“No, I’ll have all my life to grieve. But I’m staying aboard, do you hear? Until the last fish is dead, or you Fuse for home. Before that, you’d have to stun me and carry me off.”
“You know I’ll do no such thing.”
“Who knows what you’d do? Not I. Not Tolliver. Certainly not the Elders of the Church, or the U.N. electorate.”
A chuckle. “Nor I, at times.”
“Sir, give me a laser console, that’s all I ask. Until they stop coming. I suppose you’ll have to enlist me.”
“Why?”
“Years ago you insisted you wouldn’t trust Challenger’s safety to civilians.”
“That was a long time past. Now I’m more … flexible.” A pause. “Very well. I can’t imagine what to call it in the Log. I’ll have Tolliver write the entry.”
“I can stay? You mean it?”
“I mean whatever I say. I’ve never known how to do other.”
A whisper. “Thank you.”
“Do you want Kevin sent ashore?”
“No!” A cough, that might have been embarrassment. “I’m sorry. No, sir. If I might sit with him during off hours, perhaps I could get through …”
“I understand. He’ll have to be kept in the cooler, when you’re not with him.” The Captain’s voice was gruff. “Chris, no matter what, you mustn’t open the body sack. There seems to be no virus and everyone aboard’s been given precautionary vaccine, but nonetheless there’s a risk of—”
“I’ll only touch him through the plastic. Unless you prohibit that too, you son of …”
A long pause.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Mr Dakko’s voice was unsteady.
“It’s all right.”
“Do you know, Mr Seafort, if I were sure, absolutely sure, of God’s existence, I’d join Kevin this moment.”
“What you need is sleep. Romez will give you a sedative.”
“To make me a zombie like Randy Carr?” His snort held contempt. “No, I’ll wallow in my sorrow.”
“As you will. I’ve got to resume the bridge.” A rustle, and a gasp. “Oh, that hurt.”
“Shall I walk with you?”
“Stay with your son.”
“I’ll call Randy to help you.”
“He’s gone to sleep. I’ll—” a grim chuckle. “—wallow in my aches.” Mr Seafort’s footsteps faded.
A long while passed. At one in the morning, nominal ship’s time, I slipped out of bed, donned my shoes, tiptoed past the Dakkos’ forlorn cubicle. I made my way out to the corridor, half expecting someone to stop me, but no one paid me heed. After all, I was ship’s boy, and had leave to pad about in the night.
The ladder wasn’t far.
Level 2 bustled with activity. I wandered as far as section six, found the corridor hatch to five sealed.
Frederich Stoll, one of Janks’s detail I’d known from my imprisonment, folded his arms. “Can’t go in, joey. Shouldn’t even be this close.”
“The hull’s patched.”
“Yeah, but …” He grimaced. “Even with Class A decon …”
“Doesn’t matter. I was exposed.”
Involuntarily, he took a step back, licked his lips. “Never thought I’d live to see a frazzin’ fish.”
I nodded. “They’re scary.”
The corridor hatch slid open. Lieutenant Frand looked weary, her gray-streaked hair awry. “Is the outer hull airtight, Hanson?”
The seaman at her side was grizzled, his cheeks hollow. “Randell’s crew buttoned up two hours ago.”
“That’s it, then. All passengers are reassigned belowdecks, their belongings irradiated. Everyone’s inoculated. Get some sleep. What are you up to, Randy?”
“Nothing, ma’am.” I tried to look innocent.
“You did well today. Pity about the Dakko boy. Let’s hit our bunks, Hanson, before you-know-who calls us to Battle Stations again.”
“Lord God forbid.” With a perfunctory salute, the rating trudged off. Lieutenant Frand strode down the corridor without a backward glance.
Before the guard could object, I scuttled through to section five. He made as if to stop me, thought better of it. Perhaps he was afraid to touch me, despite the decon I’d undergone.
The section looked normal, except for the bare deck plating. They’d taken up the carpet in five, the easier to conduct full decon.
Cabin 257 was sealed shut; no amount of fiddling with the panel would budge the hatch. A shiny new alumalloy plate covered the jagged hole through the bulkhead melted by the outrider.
Frustrated, I sat on the deserted corridor deck, leaned against the bulkhead, drew up my knees.
“Kev’s worth ten of that silly Randy Carr.”
How had I failed to save him? By being too slow. By worrying about my own skin instead of my responsibility.
In the lounge, Mr Dakko glowered at my cuffed hands. “You contemptible piece of shit!”
Was the truth that obvious? Had they all known beforehand?
I’d held Kev in my grasp. I’d pulled him into the closet, safe and sound. Then, somehow—I was inexpressibly tired, and my mind couldn’t grasp how I’d achieved my folly—I’d let him go. I wiped my eyes.
Mikhael snarled, “What are you crying at, you vile bastard?” In my bleak cell, he stood over me, fists bunched.
At what, indeed? At Kevin’s loss? At my own stupidity? At Chris Dakko’s unquenchable grief?
“You’re an arrogant, spoiled child.”
Yes, Mr Branstead. You’ve got that right.
“I ought to take you apart bare-handed.”
Do it.
No one answered.
I said aloud, “Do it!” I banged my head backward, hit the bulkhead with a satisfying thump. It felt good. I shut my eyes, did it again.
“Stop that!”
“No!” Which ghost was that? No matter; in time they’d all gather to haunt me. I nodded my chin to my chest, rammed my skull back to the alumalloy plate. This time, it rather hurt. Better.
Soft fingers interposed themselves, rubbed my locks. “No more, Randy.”
I blinked. Corrine Sloan, the Captain’s wife. No, she was merely Janey’s host mother. “Leave me alone,” I said.
“I’ll take you back to your cabin.”
“I’ve got to stay here.”
“Why?”
“Because …” I groped to explain. Because Kevin’s soul might linger. Because this was where he’d ended, and I couldn’t leave until I’d faced my culpability. Because …
“Come along.” Gently, persistently, Corrine pulled at me.
“No!” It sounded too harsh. “No, ma’am.”
“Then I’ll sit with you.” To my astonishment, she slid down the bulkhead, made herself a place at my side.
I asked, “How’d you get past the guard?”
“What guard? I came by way of section four.” She shrugged. “Taking a walk. No one quite knows what they’re doing, this hour.”
I said bitterly, “Do they ever?”
“Yes, Randy. Nick—Captain Seafort—is quite vigilant about training.”
I flushed. “He’s not the incompetent one.”
“Who is?”
I played with my fingers.
“Ah, I understand. That’s why you were banging your head? Randy, it wasn’t your fault.” Corrine’s fingers flitted to mine, with a gift of undeserved comfort.
“And who told you?” I pulled free.
“The whole ship knows. They’re talking of nothing else.”
“How I killed Kev.” There. It was said.
“He was too scared to wait for rescue. He dragged you so close to the fish that when Janks fired …”
“It’s called an outrider. The fish was Outside.” If I filled my tone with contempt, perhaps she’d leave.
“Kevin was the one who panicked, not you.”
“Of course! He was on a strange vessel, didn’t know his way. That’s why …” I pounded my leg. “Don’t you see? I’m crew, he isn’t. Wasn’t. I was ordered to take him to his father. That made him my responsibility. Expecting a groundsider to look after himself… do you know he’s never been on a ship before?”
“He spent weeks—”
“Locked in a cell near mine! Mr Seafort, the middies, the purser, all took time to show me the ropes. Kevin knew nothing, and depended on me.”
Her tone was soothing. “Randy, you’re fourteen. No one expects—”
I shouted, “I expect!” Didn’t she understand? Dad wouldn’t buy that excuse for a minute. We were Carrs. More was expected of us, and should be.
We sat in silence. My fingers worked at my shirt.
Corrine squirmed, easing her back. Her auburn hair brushed my shoulder. “Does Nick know you’re here?”
“Who cares?”
“I do.” She climbed to her feet, tugged at my arm until, reluctantly, I stood also. “It’s time you were in bed.”
I didn’t want mothering. I blurted out the crudest thing that came to mind. “Do you love him?”
She raised an eyebrow. “What brings that up?”
“Answer!” If Mr Seafort heard, I’d be punished. All the better.
“If I do—”
“If!” I spat the word. “Give what you ask, lady!”
“You’re rude.” But she said it calmly, as if taking no offense. “Hmmm.” She slipped her arm through mine, started along the corridor.
“Do you?” Some perverse spirit made me vile.
“Love Nick?” A frown wrinkled her brow. “I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it.”
“What, then?”
“I respect him, certainly.” She stopped short. “Why does this matter to you?”
I sneered, “You’re the only one allowed to pry?”
“Oh, Randy.” She patted my arm. “You must hurt so badly.” When she pulled me to her bosom, I didn’t have it in me to resist. She enveloped me in a warm embrace. Despite my resolve, I clung to her like a young joeykid. She wore a scent, one of the new interactive ones, and abruptly I pictured Mother, poor Sandra Carr, lost in her lonesome chemdreams.
Goddamn pheromones. They drive you glitched.
After a time she released me. “Feeling better?”
Yes, but I didn’t want to. I was careful not to meet her eye. “Where are you taking me?”
By way of answer, she steered me to the ladder. Then, “Yes, I suppose I love him. Nick wants so to be honorable. And he dotes on Janey.”
I said nothing.
“When I boarded at Earthport I was booked to Constantine, no farther. Emigration was all I could think of, after the fiasco with John. A host contract paid my way, and more. But then Jane Ellen came and … she was so young … She paused for breath, halfway up the stairs. “After she was born, my duty was done, my contract completed. I watched Nick fumble with diapers … he looked so awkward holding her; who else could lend a hand?”
I trudged up the ladder, yearning to retreat to my own misery.
“By the time we reached port, it was too late. I begged him to let me stay. If he’d refused, I’d have had no recourse. None at all. Yes, she’s my child in a way, but still it was a decent, honorable thing for him to do. He’s a good man, who’s lost so much. His firstborn, his wife—two of them, in fact. And friends …
“Like my father.”
“Yes, Derek. That hit him hard.”
I cast about for another topic; Kevin’s loss was all I could contemplate this day. “Janey is … everything to him.” As Kev had been to Chris Dakko.
“He’s been generous about sharing her.” She steered me along the corridor.
“You can’t spend your life cruising from one port to another.”
“I know,” she said, “but I can’t go ashore here.”
“Why not? A ship is a way to get places, not a life.”
Abruptly her eyes were bleak. “Shall I abandon my daughter?”
“Yours, or his?”
She asked simply, “Why do you want to hurt me?”
Did I? Yes. “I don’t know.” The admission shamed me. “I’m sorry.”
“Good.” She knocked at a hatch. The Captain’s cabin. Startled, I tried to pull away, but she held me in a firm grip.
The hatch slid open. Captain Seafort’s gray eyes flickered from one to the other of us.
Corrine’s hand shot to her hair, tucked it into place. “I found him belowdecks.”
Mr Seafort’s gaze fastened on mine. “You were to sleep in sickbay.”
“No one ordered me.” I sounded defiant, and was.
“Then I order it.”
“Nick, he oughtn’t be alone. He was … hurting himself.”
“Randy?”
I shuffled my feet. “I’m all right.”
“He isn’t, Nick. Please believe me.”
“I do.” He stood aside. To me, “Come in.”
“Why?”
“Do as you’re told!”
Abashed, I brushed past him, stood hugging myself in the cabin’s soft light. The Captain’s bed was mussed, as if he’d been sitting atop the covers.
Slowly, rubbing the small of his back, Mr Seafort slipped out into the corridor. He and Corrine spoke, too quietly for me to hear.
When he came in, he looked worn and gray. He flicked a thumb past the divider, and the bed beyond. “That was Mikhael’s bunk, when he lived here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll stay the night.”
“Sir, I—”
“Tomorrow, we’ll pray for him. Or you will. Now, we’re beyond exhaustion. Undress and get into bed.” His tone brooked no refusal.
“Yessir.” Or should it be, “Aye aye, sir”? I was too tired to know.
He stripped off his tie, slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
A moment after, I crawled under my covers.
With care, he eased himself onto the side of my bed, patted my shoulder. “You did no wrong, son. Somehow, we’ll convince you of that.”
“Kev’s still dead.”
A squeeze, which despite myself I found reassuring. “Close your eyes. I’ll be here. Wake me if you’re afraid.”
Holding his spine straight, he worked himself to his feet, made his way to his own bed, labored to undo his shoes.