I FLOATED IN A gentle white sea. My shoulder was tightly bound. I blinked. The white sheets of sickbay swam into focus. As I shifted, a wisp of euphoria abruptly burned off.
Dr Romez poked his head in, raised an eyebrow, spoke into his caller. “Romez reporting, sir. He’s awake.” He listened. “Seems fine, for the moment. A goofy smile, eyes not quite focused. I’ll keep him that way ’til we’re sure. And you, sir?” A frown. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not to move. No, grav will stay at one-sixth, and if you order otherwise I’ll urge Mr Tolliver to relieve you.” He grimaced at the agitated buzz emitting from his caller. “Sir, you’re irritable because it hurts; raise the grav and I guarantee it’ll hurt far worse. Good day.” Romez rang off.
I struggled to rouse myself from lethargy. “Is Fath all right?”
“He’s pretending to be better than he feels. Wants to go visit Harry.”
“Who?”
“The alien. That’s what Anselm calls it.”
It made no sense, but I wasn’t alert enough to divert my thoughts. “Is Fath crippled?”
“Not quite. The nerves of his spine are irritated and going into spasm. Getting thrown into a tree by a raging flood didn’t help.”
I flushed; he’d made it sound my fault. “I’m getting up.” My tone was truculent.
Hands on hips, Romez went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “You’re awake enough to track? The Captain should never have gone groundside. The second time wasn’t by his own volition, but still, he came aloft way too early. His vertebrae can’t take much more stress. The Ghenili process is a miracle, but his neural connections are still …” He shook his head. “His next trip ground-side may be the last. Not that you have much say in the matter.”
“I’ll remind him.” Tentatively, I thrust aside a sheet, forgetting we were in severely reduced grav. It billowed. “Stand clear, please.” I swung out my legs. All seemed well, for at least a second. Then I gasped, flailing one-handed for the support of the bed. Romez eased me down, supporting my throbbing torso. I looked at him in mute plea.
“Now you’ve seen for yourself, joey: you’ll be abed a while. Your collarbone was a mess, and while you were under, we prepped you for a prosthesis—a mechanical temp ’til your organic’s ready. Too much damage to your stump to wait any longer. We’re running the bone-growth stimulator twice a day, you won’t be—”
“Bastard!” I drummed my heels, knotted my only available fist. “I didn’t want a prosth!”
“Talk to the Captain. He ordered it.” His tone was frosty. “Neither of you should have been allowed to lift off. Not ’til you’d properly healed, but Capt—your father—wanted you and Ms Sloan brought aloft to safety. Said the situation groundside was too chaotic to risk … well, never mind.”
I gulped. “Is that why he took the shuttle? Because I had to?”
“That’s for him to say.”
“Tell me.” I made my voice meek. “Please.”
“He wouldn’t see you left alone. Out of the question, he told us, so Mr Tolliver dispatched the medevac.”
“Damn.” I knew Dr Romez disapproved, but didn’t care. “Will he be all right? I didn’t want him hurt more. I thought …”
“Joey …” Romez sat on the bed. Surprisingly, his tone was gentle. “Mr Seafort does what he thinks right. Son or no, you won’t change that.”
My eyes burned. I said, “What happened after liftoff?”
“You passed out.”
“Groundside!”
“Janks and his joeys retreated to the shuttle and lifted. Amazingly, poor Ghent was the only one killed.”
“Andy.” I’d sneered at him, almost to the last.
“For now, Mr Janks has guard of Har—the alien, ah, visitor. Tad Anselm is doodling on metal plates to amuse it ’til the Captain’s able to join them. And there’s trouble …” Dr Romez pursed his lips, fell silent.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t spread rumors. And you’re not ship’s company.”
“I will be.” Until I’d said it, I hadn’t known how much I yearned that it again be so.
He frowned. “Well, no doubt you’ll hear soon enough from Tamarov. The master-at-arms reamed Tommy Yost before half the crew. Blamed him for Ghent’s murder. Seems it was Yost’s job to block the lane to the hangars, and he muffed it. Retreated without telling anyone. Janks said Yost wasn’t fit to … he spoke rather strongly.”
I was barely listening. “Remember me.” Andrew’s eyes burned into mine. Kevin, are you listening too? I closed a nonexistent hand over my absent friend’s.
I turned to the pillow. Romez mustn’t see.
“I’ll let you rest.”
“I want to visit Fath.” After a moment, “The Captain.”
“Not just yet.”
“I’m his son.”
“You’re too hurt to walk. You’d go to him in a wheelchair, and what will that do for his morale? He’s in pain, joey. More than he’ll ever admit.”
“Can’t you give him sedat—”
“He needs deepsleep, not sedatives. And it’s not just his physical woes. Corrine Sloan is a virtual prisoner in her cabin. She can’t walk about without guard, lest some lunatic assault her to revenge Andori. The Captain’s daughter, Janey, won’t let him out of her sight. And he’s moping about, weeping for Andrew Ghent and the seventeen dead they retrieved from the spaceport.” Romez glared as if it were my fault.
“You said Ghent was the only—”
“Not ours. Theirs. Though I could give a rat’s ass about some colonial—” He broke off, reddening. “Perhaps I’m a touch insular. Sorry. I hope they weren’t folk you knew.”
“Is Scanlen … what about Mr Branstead?”
“Jerence still holds the Governor’s Manse. As for the rest, I’ve no idea. My point is, leave the Captain be. He has enough on his plate.”
I wiped my cheeks, not even caring that he saw them damp. Carefully, I turned on my side, my back to the hatchway, and pretended to sleep.
In two days the throb of my shoulder was subsiding, and I was in a mood to climb the bulkheads from sheer frustration. All I could do was throw tantrums in the sickbay, but Fath’s disposition had affected the whole ship. When Tad Anselm had visited me, he’d had dark circles under his eyes. Mikhael had a distracted look, and waved aside my inquiries.
At last, Romez threw up his hands and brought us together.
In midafternoon he rewrapped my shoulder, bundled me into a powered chair, and wheeled me along Level 1 to the familiar gray hatch.
It was Janey who opened. She regarded me gravely with little-girl eyes. “You can’t come in. Daddy’s sleeping.”
“No, I’m not.” His voice had an edge. “Let them in.” Reluctantly, Janey stood aside.
I gaped. How could a few days have made such a difference?
Fath was gaunt, his eyes sunken. Fully dressed, he lay flat on his back. One hand gripped the side of the bed. I wanted to run to him. Romez pushed my chair forward.
A smile. “Hallo, joey. Welcome home.”
I launched myself from the chair, staggered to his embrace.
“Don’t!” Romez, too late.
I never touched him. My knee landed on the bed, to prop myself up, and the mattress swayed.
Fath went white. “I’m sor—”
Romez hauled me off. “Clumsy oaf! What did I tell you in the corridor?”
“Not to hurt …” I wasn’t quite sure, actually. I’d been too eager to get to Fath’s cabin.
“Not to go near him! If you had the brains God gave a gnat—”
“That’s quite enough.” Fath’s jaw was clenched. “Back to your duties, Doctor.”
“You’re my duty. How bad is it today? Much worse than you let on over the caller, I see. Let me examine you.”
“Not now.”
“We’ll up the painkillers. I’m increasing your dose—”
“Out of my cabin.”
“Two hundred milligrams, three times daily. And I’ll give them to you myself.”
“Did you hear me? Out.”
“Captain, you might even heal, if you give yourself time, but not unless you’re utterly relaxed. That won’t happen with your muscles tensed, anticipating the next twist of the knife.” Romez folded his arms.
Fath lifted himself on his arms. It took prodigious effort, though we practically floated off the deck in the lunar gravity. “OUT, OR YOU’RE CONFINED TO QUARTERS FOR A WEEK! Janey, the hatch!”
Dutifully, she keyed the control.
Romez made as if to speak, thought better of it. He snapped a salute, stalked out.
Ever so carefully, Fath eased himself down. His forehead was beaded with sweat. “Jesus, son of blessed Lord God.” His voice was ragged.
I stood like an idiot, wringing my hands. “What can I do? A cold washcloth? Adjust your bed? Call Mikhael?”
“Shhh. It’s all right.” His palm opened. He crooked a finger, beckoning me close. I slipped a hand into his, dared not squeeze. “How are you, son?”
“Fine.” Compared to Fath, it was true. “Bored.”
“Dr Romez said that in a week you’ll be more your old self. Up and about.”
“Sir, could I …” I swallowed. “… be ship’s boy again?”
“Not quite yet.”
“You promised!” I sounded spiteful, and was. What business had I hounding Fath, while he was in such pain?
“One-handed, you can’t handle the duties. In a few months, your new arm will be grown. And you’ll look a lot better without a sleeve pinned back.”
I said sullenly, “I didn’t want a prosth.”
“You’ll get one. I won’t have you sulking about.”
“It’s not that.”
“What, then?”
I didn’t want to tell him, and changed the subject. “Fath, why wouldn’t you let him give you a painkiller?”
“Perhaps I was a bit rough on old Romez. You’d think after two or three hundred years …” He spoke through clenched teeth “… they’d come up with something for pain that wasn’t a soporific. I don’t want them knocking me out.”
“Why not?”
His eyes flicked to the holoscreen set up beside the bed. “Harry’s on board.” For an instant, his eyes eased in a smile. “Yes, I’ve heard the nickname, and I approve. Anything that makes him seem less alien, less terrifying …”
“But if you’re stuck here …”
“Tad isn’t. I supervise, and make suggestions.”
I peered past him to the screen, which displayed the Level 2 corridor, where we’d devised our human/outrider interface. Our table, at the clear transplex barrier. The servo that drew our pictograph plates. At the moment, no one was about except our guards. The alien rolled slowly up and down its silent corridor. I shivered; outriders were hateful creatures.
“We’re making progress?”
Fath sounded glum. “Tad means well, and he does his best. But he hasn’t the knack.”
Carefully, I squeezed Fath’s hand. What thrilled me most wasn’t that he treated me as an adult, but that he knew, without asking, that I’d never repeat his words.
“Lie quietly,” I told him. “Get yourself well.”
With little more than a finger, Fath waved it away. “Dr Romez says you’re being difficult.” He put on a stern expression.
“I’ve nothing to do.”
“Then you’ll appreciate your schoolwork. You’ll start this afternoon.”
“Are you joking?” It just slipped out of me. After a moment I reddened under his scrutiny. “Yes, sir.”
“And you’ll memorize verses, as before.”
Almost, in my petulance, I kicked the bed, but I stopped myself just in time. Showing my annoyance was one thing, hurting Fath another. I cast around for an escape. “Fath, if I hadn’t asked for remission of enlistment, and I’d lose my arm as ship’s boy, would you beach me?” Beaching was how an officer was suspended, without being dismissed. But he’d know what I meant.
“No. An injured sailor stays in the ship’s company for the duration of the cruise. He’s assigned light duties.”
“Well, then.”
Fath raised an eyebrow.
“Put me on duty. It’s only a technicality; I resigned to rescue you.”
“Good argument, but no. Subject closed.”
I opened my mouth to object, set it aside. Fath was looking peaked. “If I get my work done, may I wander around? Go down to crew quarters, see joeys I know?”
“That’s fair.”
I beat a retreat.
Mr Branstead’s government survived. Scanlen remained at large, but Branstead made no move to rearrest him. Surely he’d be able to find the fugitive Bishop; Hope Nation’s settled areas weren’t all that large, and the acting Stadholder had his ear to the ground.
I badgered Dr Romez to let me return to our cabin. That is, Fath’s. As all of Level 1 was on light grav, the Doctor had little reason to keep me in sickbay. I think he was more worried I’d pester Fath, but after checking with him, Romez reluctantly agreed. I had to report to him every afternoon, without fail, for an examination of my biomech implants.
In a week, I’d be ready for a temporary prosth, a flexible alumalloy arm that would serve ’til my real one came out of the growth tanks. Grafting it would require surgery that I didn’t look forward to. I’d bear it, if I must. Restoration of my arm couldn’t possibly hurt as much as its removal.
Before I could move home to my familiar cot, though, Tolliver collared me. He set me against the bulkhead. “I owe you.” His tone held a warning.
“Why?” I didn’t owe him a “sir,” if I wasn’t ship’s boy.
“For talking me into taking that monster on board. For being a general nuisance. A loud one, pushy and insolent.”
I thought it best to say nothing.
“And so help me, if I find you’ve annoyed Captain Seafort, I’ll … By Lord God, if I had my way, you’d be banished to Level 6 ’til he’s recovered. Walk on eggshells around him, joey!”
“Yes, sir.” I couldn’t risk any other reply.
“See to it.” He stalked off.
I moved in with Fath, and for a while I felt better, but before long I was passing the time lying in my bunk thinking about Andrew Ghent. How gentle he’d been when he’d escorted me as prisoner. His risking all to sign a petition for my release. The quizzical look that crossed his face, when his life had been snuffed out. To be fair, I tried to remember Kevin as well.
Every night, I roused myself to eat in the upper Dining Hall, amid restless, impatient passengers. Daily, on the way to dinner, I passed signs for Reverend Pandeker’s prayer meetings. Olympiad was long delayed in her cruise to Kall’s Planet, and the disembarkation and reloading of passengers—to say nothing of a fish drifting not far from the portholes—had unsettled them all. Perhaps Pandeker’s blathering would ease their minds. I had no intention of attending; Lord God didn’t exist. Of that, I was pretty certain, though I wouldn’t say so to Fath.
Each night, after Reverend Pandeker gave the ship’s prayer, I struggled one-handed with my portion of vegetables and meat.
The older women at my table—in their thirties or even forties—offered in kindly fashion to help cut my food, and I tried not to be surly in my refusal. It was my task to handle my own meals, and I’d carry it out as best I could. If they disliked how I ate, they didn’t have to watch.
Afterward, unless Mikhael was off duty, I wandered back to my cabin, or looked in on Fath.
Truth to tell, I welcomed the schoolwork he’d assigned. I had so little to do that any diversion was a relief, even memorizing stupid Bible verses, and it gave Fath such pleasure to hear me say them well, I almost looked forward to the recitation.
Not tonight, though. Fath had wrenched his back getting dressed, and finally submitted to stronger painkillers. He lay asleep on his bunk, a med tech standing by. Fath had refused to go to sickbay; it was like him to dig in, and the consequences be damned.
I tiptoed to my own bed, lay down self-consciously, but couldn’t sleep under the tech’s gaze. I got up, slid the hatch open, drifted out.
It was bad enough learning to sleep near Fath. How could other joeykids accustom themselves to the wardroom, where four to eight middies were bunked? Years ago, Dad had told me of his childhood on Earth, where Grandpa Randolph had raised him as an Uppie. For a time Dad had found sleeping in public a terrible trial.
It didn’t seem to bother Mik.
Where was he, this evening? I checked his favorite lounge on Level 3, found it deserted. I sat a while, stared at bulkheads.
As ship’s boy, I’d been sent to the wardroom from time to time, to fetch and carry. Now, a civilian again, middy territory was off-limits, but I doubted anyone would object. And I felt a yearning for company.
I made my way down the corridor to the familiar hatch. It was open, but the two middies within saw only each other. I was on the verge of clearing my throat, decided not to.
“… sorry! I’ll do better, Mr Riev. I promise.” Tommy Yost’s voice sounded tearful.
I froze.
“You whiner!” The first middy’s tone dripped contempt. “What a sad excuse for an officer. We don’t ask much. Just walk down the corridor without accumulating demerits.”
“Ms Skor said I was slouching, but honest, I wasn’t—”
“I’ll believe her over you, any day.”
I grimaced. One grew used to hazing in the wardroom, Dad had said. But Mr Riev’s tone had an ugly bite.
“I’m sorry.” Yost sounded resigned.
“Yes, you’re a sorry affair. Not like Sutwin, or Tamarov.” A pause. “Or Ghent. Now, there’s one I’ll miss.”
A silence. “Sir, I swear I didn’t know the rebels could get through. I wouldn’t have seen Andy hurt for—”
“You deserted your post, you little shit. I’d trade you for him in a heartbeat.”
“I don’t—there’s nothing I … please!” The creak of furniture. “It was an accident! I didn’t know they’d—”
“You’re the accident, Yost. And you’ll pay, so help me. You’ll have a lovely cruise, I’ll see to that.”
“Excuse me.” Mik stood in the corridor behind me, hands on hips.
Riev stalked to the hatch. “What’s going on?”
Mikhael hesitated an instant. “Nothing, sir.”
Mr Riev shot me a withering glance. “A civilian has no business in this section, joey.” As if that wasn’t enough, he added, “And you’re not welcome in my wardroom.”
Mik frowned, but said nothing.
“Yes. Yes, sir.” I licked my lips.
“Don’t skulk about hatches, you colonial trannie.” To Mikhael, “In or out?”
“In, if you don’t mind.”
The hatch slid closed behind them, leaving me in the corridor fuming.