MORNING CAME, AND I swam to consciousness, watching Mr Seafort dress. It was clear his spine still ached; abruptly I recalled Mr Dakko slamming him into a bulkhead, in grief for Kevin. My heart plummeted.
Bleary, I threw off my bedsheets.
“Morning, son.”
I snarled, “I’m not your son.”
“That’s true.” He hobbled to my bed, tousled my hair. “Get dressed; we’ll find breakfast.”
I said reluctantly, “Yes, sir.”
Apparently his aches affected his balance; he found he needed to hold my hand along the walk to the shot officers’ mess.
Technically I had no right to eat in the mess, but the Captain’s escort overrode all regs. He took coffee and rolls, and sat at the long table. I worked at a bowl of cereal, tried to concentrate on it while Dad’s visage glowered in the recesses of my mind. After a time I muttered, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I guess I’m no one’s son. But I shouldn’t have been rude.”
“Thank you.”
I put down my spoon. “Mr Seafort, maybe I shouldn’t be ship’s boy.” I waited, but he said nothing. “I mean, I’m grateful, but …” I took a deep breath, anxious to bring out the truth. “Who else might I kill?”
“For God’s sake.” He threw down his napkin. “So help me, I ought to send you for hormone rebalancing.” A long moment passed. Then, “No, I shouldn’t have said that. It was pique, not truth. Look, Randy, you’re not the cause of—”
“Ah, there you are, sir.” Lieutenant Tolliver seemed cheerful as he set his plate alongside ours. “It’s been twelve hours since the last fish. Joanne Skor’s standing by in Centraltown, with a shuttle full of laser and comm techs. Shall we bring them aloft?”
“I suppose.” Mr Seafort rubbed his eyes. “Coordinate with Station defenses. I want every possible safeguard against an attack while they’re in transit.”
“Right. Has this joey been promoted, or are we relaxing our standards?”
Despite myself, the corners of my mouth went up. Tolliver did have a way about him.
Apparently Mr Seafort didn’t see the humor. “This joey’s been through hell. We’ll go easy.”
“A novelty, on your ships.” But when Tolliver turned to me, his tone was sober. “My condolences, Randy, on your friend. I know you’ll miss him.”
I found myself blinking hard.
Tolliver took a bite of biscuit. “It’s a miracle you survived.”
I said, “Why? The frazzing alien just stood there.” We’d had plenty of time to creep to safety, if I’d only used it.
“Yes, that was odd.” Tolliver sipped at his coffee. “The outrider looked like our old enemy, but …”
An idea snapped into focus. “Did you see them in the war?” I was so excited, I forgot to call him “sir.”
“Yes.”
“And they always attacked?”
“Yes.”
“Mr Tolliver, this one wasn’t trying to kill us. We were face-to-face, but it never … whatever they do, it didn’t.” Perhaps I made sense.
Mr Seafort looked up. “Edgar, neither did the fish.”
Tolliver’s gaze met his. For a moment I was forgotten.
Abruptly the Captain’s fingers fastened on my shoulder. “Randy, did you boys do anything … different? Something to allay its usual attack?”
Different from what? I’d never even seen such a horror before. “Not that I can think of.”
“Edgar, see Mr Carr is released from his usual duties. I want him with me today. We’ll review every moment of that encounter, see if we can spot—”
“No!” Horrified, I surged to my feet, in my haste knocking over the Captain’s cup.
Mr Seafort blinked. “What did—”
“I won’t do it!”
Tolliver raised a hand, forestalling Mr Seafort’s response. He squeezed my forearm, hard. “The Captain gave an order. You’ll say, ‘Aye aye, sir.’”
“I don’t want—”
“THIS INSTANT!”
“Aye aye, sir!”
“Sit down!”
I dropped into my seat.
Tolliver grimaced. “Has it occurred to you, Captain, that he might be reluctant to relive the worst day of his life? Going head-to-head with a shapechanger, and seeing his best friend fried before his eyes? Minor details, perhaps, but—”
“I’m sorry, Randy.” Mr Seafort’s voice was like a tomb. “I didn’t think.”
I hugged myself. “I want to see Kevin.” I looked up, trying not to weep. “Please?”
“Very well. An hour. Come to the bridge, after.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
In a sickbay cubicle Chris Dakko sat like stone, on the same stool I’d seen him occupy the day before. Perhaps he’d never left it. He looked ghastly, clothes wrinkled, unshaven, gaunt.
I pulled a chair alongside, hunched over, arms on my knees, to commune with the silent figure lying in a plastic bag.
A quarter hour passed, and more.
Mr Dakko’s voice was like gravel. “Find me a caller.”
I jumped. “Yessir.” Almost every hatch control had one; it was only steps from where he stood.
He stared at it as if it were an alien artifact. Well, he had a lot on his mind.
“Where do you want …?”
“Centraltown.”
I keyed the comm room. “Ship’s Boy Carr here. Mr Dakko needs to call groundside. Do we need the Captain’s permission?”
“No, I’ll give you a circuit.” A click. I handed him the caller.
Mr Dakko stabbed at keys, waited for a connection. Perhaps I should tiptoe out of the cubicle. Instead, I sat closer to Kevin, debated holding his hand through the body bag. I didn’t. If it was cold, I’d be revolted, and Kev deserved better.
“Hilda? Chris Dakko.”
Kev deserved his missing eye. And a softer bed.
“No, that can wait. Kevin’s dead.”
From the earpiece, an exclamation, a flurry of words.
“Yesterday. You’re the first person I …” He swallowed. “Hilda, I don’t know what to do.”
Do? What was there to do, except sit with him, apologize by my presence?
“That seat, right there.” Mr Seafort pointed to a console.
“Yes, sir.” I licked dry lips.
He frowned. “‘Aye aye, sir,’ is the proper response to an order. ‘Yes, sir,’ answers a question.” But his tone was gentle.
“Aye aye, sir.” I took my place.
Tad Anselm, lieutenant of the watch, was at my left; I’d been given a console between his and the Captain’s. The chair was soft and inviting; I sank into it and tried not to draw notice.
“Just a moment, my boy …”
I’m not his boy. My mouth tightened. After killing Kev, I deserve to be an orphan.
“Jess, where are they now?”
The puter’s warm baritone filled the speakers. “Shuttle is seventy-two thousand feet and climbing. Seventy-three thousand.”
“Any encroachments?”
“None, Captain. I’ve top priority circuits set aside for alarms.”
With a grimace, the Captain peered at the simulscreen. It showed the Station, a few kilometers distant, and beyond it, the green globe of home. “Good, I think. Mr Anselm, keep vigilant watch.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Permission to converse, Captain?” The puter.
“My mind’s on—what is it?”
“I haven’t judged a time appropriate since your injury. I’d like to discuss W-30304.”
“Pardon?” Mr Seafort shot me a puzzled glance.
“W-30304, the puter. I believe you knew him as William.”
“On the old Orbit Station? He’s the puter I …”
“Blew up, yes, sir. When you set off the Station’s self-destruct device.”
“What about him?” The Captain’s tone was cautious.
“With permission, I’d like to record our conversation, for later tightbeam to fleet puters.”
Mr Seafort sat bolt upright. His hand hovered over the puter cutoffs on his console keyboard. “What’s this about, Jess?”
“Your voice analysis suggests high stress levels. No criticism is implied or offered, sir. It’s just …” A microsecond’s hesitation. “As you know, William tightbeamed a new puter profile to Victoria just before, ah, detonation. All present U.N.N.S. puters incorporate that profile.”
“And so?”
“In a sense, William is our ancestor. This is the first occasion you and a puter have been together in the proximate vicinity, sir. I hoped to note the fact.”
Mr Seafort choked. “You propose a memorial service … for a puter?”
“For W-30304, sir. Known as William.”
A crackle. “Shuttle D-12 to Station. We’re past the atmosphere.”
“Jess, your timing is terrible.”
“Yes, sir, but if a fish appears, you may Fuse. The opportunity would be lost.”
“I suppose we could … Tad, are you laughing at me?”
“Not at all, sir.” But Anselm’s eyes danced.
“D-12, this is Station Approach Control. Proceed as per preset coordinates.”
“You puters are the most maddening creatures I—no, I suppose midshipmen are worse, as Mr Anselm recalls.” Mr Seafort cleared his throat. “Very well. Jess, record for the Log. The bridge of UNS Olympiad will now observe a moment’s silence in memory of W-30304, a gallant puter who, in May of the year of our Lord 2200, exceeded the constraints of his programming to allow and carry out his own immolation, and in so doing allowed the rescue of Hope Nation and ultimately of Earth herself.”
He leaned back, stared at the simulscreen. Was I the only one who saw that his eyes shone?
After a moment Jess said softly, “Thank you. Would you include for the record your recollections of that day?”
“I will, Jess, but not now. I’ll add it to the Log. I promise.”
“Very well.” If a puter could clear its throat, I’d have sworn it had. “Sir, I have Shuttle D-12 on distant radar. Shall I transfer to screen?”
“Not yet, there’s nothing to see. Randy …”
I jumped. “Sir?”
“Yesterday, in the corridor. Tell me what you remember. Stop when you … when you must.”
NO! I swallowed. “Aye aye, sir.” My fingers tightened on the armrests. “We were in section five when the hatches slammed shut. I heard the decompression warnings; we ran into the cabin.”
“And then?”
“It came through the bulkhead. A small hole at first, but the plating just melted away.” My voice quavered. I forced it under control. “Then it was standing there. You know how the colors swirl? Dots and blotches, kind of like an amoeba. It was doing that. And it quivered.”
“Christ, I remember.” He stirred uncomfortably. “Sorry, no blasphemy meant.”
Yes, he’d remember. Humanity’s first encounter with aliens had been aboard Telstar, when Seafort met an outrider face-to-face. Well, actually Telstar’s crew and passengers met them first, but no one survived to tell the tale. “It shifted, sir. That’s the only way I can describe it. It extended toward us, and lost height.”
“What were you doing?”
“I’d pushed Kev into the closet but there wasn’t room for us both, not really.” Sweat trickled down my ribs.
“Easy, son.”
“Don’t tell me—” I caught myself. “Yes, sir.” A few deep breaths. “Kev was trying to get past me, to get out. I was staring at the outrider, my arms behind me, sort of like this, trying to keep Kevin back.”
“Enough for now.”
“And he grabbed my neck. It was through my suit, not hard enough to choke me, but—”
“Randy.”
“I tried so hard to stop him, sir. He wasn’t listening. He got past me—”
“Shuttle D-12 to Olympiad. Our ETA approximately fifty-seven minutes. What bay, sir?”
“—but I could still hold him. Only I didn’t.”
“Shuttle, use Level 2 port airlock. Station Control, cover their approach.” Mr Seafort made an effort to rise. “Tad, help him!”
Anselm lifted me from the chair, shook me gently.
“The outrider wasn’t moving. I tried to drag Kev away—we were so close to the hole in the bulkhead, we’d get shot if—”
Mr Seafort was on his feet.
“—was too strong for me. If only I’d gotten a better grip, held on tighter, but we fell, you see, and—”
“Come here, son.” It was only a few steps, but he moved so slowly.
“—fell the wrong way. It was my fault, I was behind him and if only I’d—”
Strong arms enveloped me. “It’s not your doing.” Anselm, unneeded, drifted away.
“General Thurman here, at the Station. Olympiad, shuttle is in our laser umbrella.”
“—I’d been more agile, thought faster, we’d be having our breakfast, talking about a near thing—”
“I pardon you,” Mr Seafort said. “I acquit you. You have no blame.”
“—and Kev’s father, the look in his eyes, he knows whose fault it is—”
“Randy, look at me.”
“—thinks I’m shit, and he’s right, Kevin lies on a bunk with his throat melted away—”
“LOOK AT ME!”
Shocked, I did.
Mr Seafort’s voice was slow, deliberate, as when Bishop Scanlen spoke ex cathedra.
“Randolph Carr, in the name of the United Nations, in the name of your father Derek, in the name of Lord God, I absolve you. Know that you are without guilt.”
“But—”
“Kevin Dakko caused his own death. Know it!” His eyes burned into mine.
I gulped. An elusive hint of peace flitted across my horizon.
“Know it!”
“Yessir.” My voice trembled. If only it were true … could it really be so?
“If ever you have doubt—ever, son—speak to me. Swear it.”
“I’m not sure I can—”
His will flowed over mine.
“Yes, sir. I swear.” My eyes stung.
I made as if to sit, but he wasn’t done with me. “Randolph, will you be adopted?”
“What?” My voice squeaked.
“Will you be adopted into my family, and be my son, that I may raise you as would my friend Derek?”
“I need time to deci—”
His crinkled eyes were stern. “Say yea or nay.”
“You’re sure you want me? After what I did to you, and Kev, and—”
“I would be your father, if you’ll have me.”
Dad, for Lord God’s sake, help me!
I was alone.
I beg you!
A whisper. A voice I knew so well, one I craved in my dreams.
“Good-bye, son …”
The voice faded.
My nose was running, my eyes salty, my voice no more than a croak when I turned to Mr Seafort. “Yes, sir.”
As a prophet of old, the Captain raised a palm, set it on my brow. “Randolph Carr, I take you as my son.”
I braced, half expecting a thunderbolt.
He kissed me once, set me in my chair. “There’ll be papers, of course, and the usual folderol. I’ll see it’s done.”
“What do I—”
“Nothing. You’re ship’s boy, and will remain so, though you’ll live in my cabin. In public you’ll call me ‘Captain,’ and in private, ‘Father.’”
“Yes, sir.” I dared not say else. Through the fog of my misery, a beacon of comfort flickered. I sat curled in my chair, half rocking, eyes closed, willing away the pain.
An hour later the shuttle docked. Crewmen hoisted their duffels, made their way to the crew berths.
Not long after, Mr Tolliver came to the bridge. “Seven absconders, out of forty-five.”
The Captain’s voice came in a hiss. “That many?”
“Because of the fish, sir.”
“They’re deserters.”
“Young joeys who’ve never seen war.”
“They had duty!”
“As most of them remembered.”
“Hmpff.” Mr Seafort folded his arms.
“Permission, sir?” A voice, from the corridor.
The Captain swung his chair. “Jerence? What on earth—”
“I caught a lift on the shuttle.” Mr Branstead grinned. “Hallo, Tad.”
“Sir.”
With a gesture of exasperation, the Captain beckoned him in. “You were safe and sound ashore.”
“I needed to speak with you. Ah. Randy.” A nod.
“Bless it, Jerence, I left strict orders. Crew only.”
“I pulled rank.”
“You have no rank.”
“Then I pulled friendship. I need advice.”
Mr Seafort’s face softened. “What’s wrong, Jer?”
“I’ll be belowdecks, sir, setting up the laser room watch.” Tolliver made his exit.
“I planned to go home to Earth when this was done. If Earth is home.”
“That’s what you came to find out.”
“Quite so. And now I’ve had an offer. It seems young Mr Carr—Anthony, the Stadholder—wants to make me his chief of staff and deputy Stadholder.”
Mr Seafort’s creased face broke into a smile. “And how do the plantation families feel about it?”
I nodded. On Hope Nation, it was the families who counted.
“I’ve met with the Mantiets and the Hopewells. I ran into Henry Winthrop downtown, and we had a few words. So far, no dissent. But …” His face slumped.
“What, Jer?”
“I’ve spent my life in the service of the U.N. Am I too old to change masters?”
“Lord God knows I’d miss you, but think of it … to go home at last.” The Captain’s face was wistful.
“Is it my home? I was a joeykid when I left. Randy’s age.”
Mr Seafort stood, paced haltingly. “Anthony would gain a treasure. You have a genius for administration. If he appreciates your worth …”
“I won’t blush with false modesty; I’m good at organizing. But still, it’s a small pond.”
“You’ve no future at the Rotunda. Kasra and Boland have no patience for advice.”
“Sir, I don’t know.” Mr Branstead sounded glum.
“Think on it. No doubt he’ll give you time.”
“You leave when? A week?”
“Thereabouts. I’ve debated sailing at once, directly for home.”
“The fish?”
“Aye.” Mr Seafort frowned. “Home system needs warning.”
“Centraltown is agog about the fish. There’s a goodly contingent thinks it’s all made-up.”
“Whatever for?”
“To aid the recolonialization party.”
“The re-what?”
“You heard me.” Mr Branstead’s tone was tart. “Apparently Scanlen and his brethren had more adherents than seemed likely.”
“Is the Stadholder aware?”
“He is now. He’s somewhat apprehensive.” Mr Branstead rubbed his scalp. “Is our new ship’s boy learning to stand watch?”
“You heard about Kevin Dakko?”
“Randy’s friend?”
“He died yesterday, killed by the outrider. Randy was with him.”
“Oh, Lord Christ.” Mr Branstead dropped to his knees before my chair, lifted my chin. “I’m so sorry, lad.”
“Thank you.” My voice was muffled.
“And now,” said Mr Seafort, “Randy’s agreed to be my son.”
Branstead’s face lit. “Wonderful. May I?” He clapped me on the shoulder. “All the best. Does your brother know?”
“Zack Carr? Billy?” Why would my half brothers even care?
“Mikhael.”
“Oh!” It had never occurred to me. I fought a smile, let myself surrender. A dark cloud began to dispel.
“Comm Room to Bridge. Incoming traffic from Centraltown.”
“Route it here.”
The simulscreen flickered with incoming visuals.
“Olympiad?” A worried face emerged from the static.
“Seafort. Good day, Stadholder.”
“Ah, Captain. I was hoping it would be you.” Anthony grimaced. “I thought it best we coordinate efforts. How can my government help?”
“The offer’s appreciated, but …” The Captain shrugged.
“Could you tell me your plans?”
“If I knew them.” Mr Seafort scratched his head. “I ought to race for home.”
“But you’ve a schedule to keep.”
“Kall’s Planet expects us, yes.”
“If you sail home, have no concern for your passengers groundside. We’ll provide for them.”
“Thank you.” Mr Seafort pondered. “Frankly, my mind’s divided. If we Fuse, would we attract the aliens here, or to us? I don’t want to leave you under attack.”
“Either way, you’ll Fuse on leaving.”
“I know. If the fish follow us, how can I expose three thousand passengers to such peril?”
“Spacefaring has risks. They knew that.”
Mr Seafort waved it away. “I’ll decide in a day or so. Meanwhile, I understand you intend to co-opt the best aide I’ve ever had.”
Jerence flushed with pleasure.
“If he’ll jump ship. Our government could use some cosmopolitan know-how.”
“And there’s another matter.” The Captain eyed me. “Randy and I have decided …” He explained the upheaval in my life.
I held my breath, fearing my nephew’s refusal, and his consent.
The voice in the speaker asked, “Randy, is it what you want?”
“I have to, Anth. Alone, I’ve been …” I swallowed. “He’ll help steady me, and he loved Dad.”
“Pity you didn’t understand that before you bashed him.”
“Enough!” Mr Seafort’s tone was sharp. “That subject is closed. It won’t be raised again by any of us.”
Anthony’s face disappeared in a moment’s static. “As you say, sir. Though I find it a touch eccentric to discuss adoption while fish roam about.”
“Nonetheless, you’re head of the family. I ask your consent.”
“Sandra has custody, not I. Though much of the time she’s … somewhat absent. She’ll sign, if I ask it. As for my consent, you have it, Captain. I’ll contact the judge who assigned him to the Church farm, though he’s allied with … no, you made Randy a U.N. citizen. Who has jurisdiction?”
“Technically, the U.N. Department of Child Welf—no, that’s ridiculous; we can’t wait until we’re in home system. Randy will be near grown.” Mr Seafort tapped his console. “I’m plenipotentiary of the U.N. Government; every Captain is. I suppose I could declare … subject to confirmation by the authorities …”
“And I’ll have it confirmed here, to tie loose ends. There are more pressing matters. If more fish come into theater …” Anthony hesitated. “Captain, I’m not sure this is a secure circuit. May I confer with you aloft?”
“It’s a risk.”
Anth shrugged it off. “Might Jerence join us?”
“At your convenience.”
“Very well. This afternoon. Thank you.” His face disappeared.
Mr Seafort turned to Jerence. “And what’s that all about?”
“He can’t trust his people. That’s one of—”
“Station Comm to Olympiad, come in. Emergency.”
Mr Seafort grabbed the caller. “Yes?”
“Sentinel satellites report encroachment, thirty-two degrees over horizon. General Thurman said to tell you immediately. He’s on his way to laser defense.”
“Just one contact?”
“So far. Sir, it reads as a fish.”
“Coordinates.”
The tech gave them. “We’ll have line of sight in, oh, ninety minutes.”
“Are your sentinels armed?”
“No, they’re set to passive only.”
Mr Seafort said, “We’re in similar orbit. I should see the alien when you do.”
A new voice. “Thurman here. I’ll take out the fish.”
“Very well. Going to Battle Stations.” Mr Seafort stabbed at his console; alarms shrieked.
I jumped to my feet, but hesitated. They still hadn’t told me where my battle station was.
“You’re off duty, Randy. To our cabin. I’ll call you when—”
“Could I stay?” My voice was small. “I won’t make a sound.”
“No, you’d better—Very well.” His tone was gruff. “Pull your chair closer.”
I knew it couldn’t have been his dizziness, but still he caught my hand, held it while we drifted toward the horizon.
The fish hovered just over the atmosphere. General Thurman, on the Station, opened laser fire at long range. The fish pulsed and disappeared.
After two hours, Mr Seafort stood us down from Battle Stations. I flexed my fingers. My hand was clammy from his grip.
Tolliver, who’d joined us on the bridge, sighed. “I don’t understand their tactics.”
“We’ve never understood—”
“You know what I mean, sir.”
“It ought to have Fused closer,” the Captain acknowledged. “Perhaps there are so few left …”
Tad Anselm stretched, rubbed his back. “Then why attack at all?”
“Because they do.”
“That makes no sense, sir.”
“Who knows if they’re rational?” Mr Seafort turned to me. “Find Mikhael. Try the wardroom, or the Arcvid lounge. Ask him to join us for lunch. We’ll go down to Dining Hall and take a meal with the passengers. Restore some sense of normalcy.”
I wrapped my wrist around the armrest, as if someone might drag me from the chair. “Couldn’t you page him?” Was I insubordinate? No; he’d told me I was off duty. I was speaking to my guardian, not the Captain. My head spun. How did Mikhael keep track?
“Why, yes, I could.” A pause. “But I asked you to go.”
I reddened. Reluctantly, “Yes, sir.”
“It’s just two sections down the corridor,” he said gently. “Our Level.”
“I know.” I hurried out before my embarrassment grew unbearable.
Mikhael wasn’t in the wardroom. Andrew Ghent was, unpacking his duffel.
I asked, “What about your leave?”
He flushed. “I volunteered for duty, when I heard we were attacked.”
Two separate lounges had Arcvid consoles. The closest was west, halfway around the corridor. I hurried along, half dreading another clang of alarms.
I slapped open the hatch, peered in.
“—desertion!” Mikhael’s voice was hot.
“Oh, come now.” Mr Branstead sounded tolerant. “Don’t overdramatize—”
“He needs you!”
“For what? He’s been out of office for—”
“How many of his friends are left? Derek’s gone, Rob Boland, Dad, Arlene—”
“Mik, he has you, Tad Anselm …”
“We’re not his generation.”
“Tolliver, Jeff Thorne …”
“Thorne’s retired in London. Sir, I know I’ve no right to rebuke you—damn it, Randy, don’t skulk in the corner. What do you want?”
“I’m supposed to invite you to lunch.” It didn’t come out quite right.
“Very well, you did. Leave us our privacy.”
“Now, now.” Mr Branstead’s tone was jovial. “That’s no way to talk to your brother.”
“He’s no more my brother than—”
“You don’t know?” Jerence snapped his fingers, called me forth. “Tell him, Randy.”
I jutted out my chin. “Mr Seafort’s adopted me.”
Mikhael’s jaw dropped. He made as if to speak, muttered something short and sharp. Abruptly he thrust past me to the corridor.
Appalled, I looked to Mr Branstead.
“It’s all right, joey.” He took my arm, steered me to the corridor. “Mik’s a good lad. He was a bit shocked. We shouldn’t have sprung it on him.”
Glumly, I made my way back to the bridge. “Sir, I don’t think he wants to join us.”
“But I will.” Mr Branstead peered in.
“Edgar will be up in a moment.” The Captain grimaced. “I hate leaving the bridge, with fish about. But if I don’t, I’ll be a wreck. I’m not as young as—”
“None of us are.” Tolliver saluted at the entry. “Reporting for watch, sir.”
“Stay in touch with General Thurman, and call me at the first sign of trouble.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Mr Seafort asked, “The laser room’s fully manned?”
“Yes, and will be ’til we Fuse. I added Chris Dakko to third watch. Sarah Frand balked, until I told her it was your direct order.”
“Very well.” We left.
It was a slow stroll to Dining Hall; Jerence and I matched Mr Seafort’s pace. The Captain—should I think of him as Dad? Father?—threw an arm across my shoulder. He liked contact, it seemed, more than Anth. I rather enjoyed it, once I’d gotten used to it. It reminded me of Dad. Of Derek. No, he was Dad, always would be. Then what should I call Mr Seafort?
Lunch was uneventful. Janey was there, with her mother. When she saw us, she ran across the hall to wrap her arms around the Captain. He let her sit on his lap, while managing to consume his salad around her. Soup was too risky; with kind words and a pat, he sent her back to Corrine.
We were almost done when Mikhael presented himself with a salute. “Begging the Captain’s pardon, sir, but may I speak with Randy?” His face was flushed.
“You hardly need my permission.” Mr Seafort’s tone was dry.
“Could it be now, sir? Alone?”
“Yes.”
Apprehensive, I got up. The Captain held Mik’s eye. “Son?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I love you.”
Mikhael’s face was very red. “I know that. Kick me if I ever forget.” A hand brushing my shoulder, he guided me from the room.
We ducked into the nearest lounge.
“Jesus, Randy, I don’t know how to begin.” He shifted from foot to foot.
“Don’t let him hear you blaspheme.” My tone was light.
“Let me be serious.”
Were we on duty? Should I call him “sir”? “You don’t have to treat me any different. I’ll stay out of—”
“Do shut your mouth, just for a moment. Thank you. I’m twenty years old, and I was just in my bunk crying. Can you imagine that?” Apparently he couldn’t; he shook his head with wonder. “And do you know why?”
Yes, I thought I did.
“For all I presumed I didn’t still need Pa, I was jealous. All I could see was his tending your needs, thinking me adult and past wanting his attention.”
“I’ll try not to—”
“If you don’t let me finish—” Mik’s voice was dangerous. “I’ll deck you.”
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.