30

TWO DAYS HAD PASSED.

I buried Fath’s bottle in the clothes drawer, wiped my mouth. The alcohol burned pleasantly in my gullet. It could get to be a habit. How many bottles did he have stored, and where? Certainly he’d brought more than one; Olympiad’s cruise lasted for nearly three years. On the other hand, liquor was readily available in Centraltown—to adults—and no doubt on Kall’s Planet as well. As long as Fath didn’t notice the level of the bottle going down, all would be well.

He slept, as always. Monitors recorded his pulse, his breaths, his blood oxygen.

Romez said he was getting better. That with luck, he’d be his old self. That in less than a week, he’d bring Fath out from deepsleep, let him go about the topmost deck in reduced lunar grav. That I had no need to worry. That in two days, they’d perform minor surgery to prep me for my temporary prosth, and learning to use that would keep my mind occupied.

I stole another look at the dresser drawer, reluctantly decided against it. I’d be meeting Mik shortly for dinner.

While I waited, I worked my way into a fresh shirt. I didn’t want a prosth, but I had to admit that at times it’d be useful. Like when you wanted to scratch your left side. And one hand doesn’t cup enough water to really wash your face.

Of course, what I’d be getting was an ugly mechanical, regardless of its flesh tones. But first they had to implant the interface, all chips and nanomechanisms, that would bridge the gap between my nerves and the prosth. Ugh. They might as well give me a hook, like that ancient captain wore in the stories.

Yesterday our team had reached new depths of frustration with Harry. Anselm, Lieutenant Frand, Mik, and I … even Joanne Skor had joined us at the table. We’d tried again to work on time and duration, with no visible success. Tad had even let me try again with the clock.

After lunch we’d barely settled behind the transplex barrier when Harry bestirred himself. He rolled onto a plate, drew a message. It appeared to be a dead fish.

We weren’t sure how to react. But Harry didn’t wait. His next plate was more ominous: a dead human. Tad and Mikhael exchanged glances.

Lieutenant Frand asked, “What’s it mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Anselm. “Jess, erase it. ‘We don’t understand.’ Randy …”

I jumped. “Yes, sir?”

“Don’t startle him. Don’t move without permission. No sudden gestures, leave your bloody clock alone. If Harry’s making a threat, we want to answer very carefully.”

I reddened. “You can trust me—”

“Stow it!”

Jess erased the plate.

Harry redrew it.

Ms Frand looked around. “All right, joeys, what’s he saying?”

No one had a guess. After a time I said, “Ma’am, I think … isn’t this the first time he’s spoken to us?”

“Nonsense, we’ve drawn back and forth about peace, about the war, about—”

“Yes, ma’am, but isn’t this the first time Harry’s spoken first?”

Silence.

“You know,” said Mikhael slowly, “I think he’s right.”

“What’s that tell us?” Anselm.

Again, no one had an answer. I ventured, “That he’s getting impatient?”

Tad grunted. “Him, or you?”

That wasn’t fair. I was doing my best. I jutted out my jaw, resolved to say nothing.

Anselm and the others dithered. Afraid to say anything that might be misunderstood, again they erased Harry’s message.

Harry roiled into a frenzy, etching plates as fast as Jess’s servo provided them. Dead fish. Dead humans. A broken ship. Three mysterious squiggles that looked rather like worms. Seven outriders, then six. Then five. While we puzzled out the plates Harry skittered back and forth along the corridor. He came to a halt near the transplex barrier and stood, quivering.

In desperation Anselm sent back seven humans, then six, and five. Harry erased them.

We conferred, but I had nothing to say. I was fresh out of ideas, and Anselm mocked those I’d had.

Now, in our cabin, I sighed. Where the hell was Mikhael?

Harry was beginning to give me the jitters.

That damned quivering was likely to drive me crazy.

A soft knock, and the hatch slid open. “Ready? How’s Pa?” Mik peered in.

“How’s he ever?” My tone was sour.

Mikhael sniffed the air, gave me a sharp glance, but said nothing. On the way to Dining Hall he said, “Nervous about tomorrow’s surgery?”

“Some. Romez says I won’t feel a thing.”

“He’s very good.” But Mik seemed preoccupied.

I gave him a few moments, said hesitantly, “Is it about Tommy?”

“Huh? No.” He shook his head with a grimace. “But don’t taunt the middy, he has troubles enough.”

“I didn’t—”

“Look.” Mik stopped short. “I heard it on the bridge, so I shouldn’t tell you. But you’re family, so I should.”

How did my conversation with Yost reach the bridge? I gaped.

“Something’s happened to Mr Branstead; Tolliver can’t reach him.”

A pang of loss. Jerence had been good to me.

“Vince Palabee’s surfaced in the Venturas. Made a speech, with Bishop Scanlen and Ambassador McEwan at his side.”

Mikhael rubbed his eyes. “And I haven’t told you the worst. Scanlen publicly excommunicated Corrine Sloan. Says she committed apostasy on Hope Nation soil, demands she be returned for trial and condemnation. Requires that all men proclaim her guilt, wherever she roams, and removes from office any who harbor her.”

“What’s that mean?”

“If Pa brings her home, he’s required to denounce her as excommunicate and hand her up for trial. And if he doesn’t, Pandeker will.”

I grasped at straws. “But when Scanlen excommunicated Fath, no one paid attention.”

“Pa holds a U.N. commission. Even the Church can’t revoke it. Though that frazball Scanlen just tried. Removes from office … fah!” Mik’s lip curled.

“But when Fath gets home?”

Mik pursed his lips. “I told you there’d be a trial.”

“Can he protect Corrine? Refuse to hand her over?”

“I don’t see how.” He tugged at my sleeve. “Let’s go, dinner’s starting.”

I wasn’t hungry, but I let him steer me to the Dining Hall. We’d barely slid out our chairs when Reverend Pandeker rose to give the traditional Ship’s Prayer.

“Lord God, today is March 7, 2247, ship’s time, on the UNS Olympiad. We ask you to bless us, to bless our voyage, and to bring health and well-being to all aboard.”

Pandeker moved to sit, hesitated, remained on his feet. “We further ask Lord God’s blessing to restore Olympiad’s Captain to health, that we may continue on our journey. That those guilty be punished, and matters of treason and heresy set right.”

“Mik!” I grabbed his wrist.

“Shush.” He freed himself. Then, softly, “We’ll see what Mr Tolliver does.”

“He’s sitting there, slurping soup.” I pointed to a nearby table, like ours, beginning their meal.

“Not now, you dolt. After.” He smiled at his neighbor. “What, ma’am? Yes, I agree. Quite flavorful.” Mik took another steaming spoonful of mushroom soup. “Quite.” But his eyes were watchful.

It was an outrage: Tolliver did nothing. I hung about near the bridge, to see if he would summon Pandeker or go to him. Mikhael spotted me, demanded I go to my cabin before Lieutenant Frand caught me. I shrugged. I wasn’t doing anything illegal. I was off duty, and lived on Level 1. And Tolliver had told me I was free to visit him.

After a time, though, I got bored with the gray, silent corridor, and trudged back to our cabin. Sourly, I made ready for bed.

That fraz Pandeker had called out Fath in his own ship. Corrine Sloan, too, and not a soul had risen to their defense. I should have leaped to my feet, called him what he was.

I paced, quietly, so as not to wake Fath. I snorted at my overcaution. Even the blare of an alarm wouldn’t wake him from deepsleep.

So. Tomorrow another dreary day with Harry.

No. Surgery, to graft an interface for my prosth. I made a face.

I hesitated.

The hell with it. I crossed to Fath’s dresser, dug out the scotch. If he didn’t approve, let him wake and parent me as he ought. I dug out the cork, took a sip. It didn’t seem enough. I took a longer swig.

Half an hour later, I decided to take the bull by the horns. Time to see ol’ Tolliver, find out what he would do about Pandeker. Reluctantly, I shoved the depleted bottle into Fath’s dresser, peered into the mirror, gave my hair a few licks with the brush. Tolliver was the sort to ignore my point, for a lousy shirt or a lock of hair.

I headed for the bridge, my stride unsteady. This damned low gravity Fath needed … hard for a joey to get used to.

Anselm had the watch. I’d find Tolliver in his cabin, and didn’t I know a sailor wasn’t to approach the bridge without an officer’s escort? And why was I raising my voice, did I care to be placed on report?

Grumbling, I set off for Tolliver’s cabin. It wasn’t far. Most all the officers were bunked on Level 1. Closer to the bridge, I supposed. Even the wardroom was—

Hot voices, drifting from the next section.

“An oath of obedience can’t be abrogated!” Tolliver.

“Not by the person giving it, agreed. But in—” Who was that? It sounded like …

“That decides the matter.”

“—but in this case, the oath’s ordered broken by the one to whom it’s given.” Ah, yes. Dear old Lieutenant Frand.

“You swore obedience to the Naval Service.” Tolliver’s voice was harsh. “Until Admiralty releases—”

I slowed my step, which was just as well. My pace wasn’t as dependable as it ought to have been, and the corridor had an alarming tendency to drift.

“I swore obedience to the Service, but the oath was given to Lord God. And it’s His representative who—”

“Pure sophistry, Sarah!”

“A matter of conscience. May we follow … orders without risk of eternal …”

I leaned against the corridor bulkhead, straining to hear, trying to make no noise. It was like when …

I felt my face go beet-red. I’d promised. I’d sworn. I would not sneak about listening outside hatches. Reluctantly, I urged my feet forward.

I strolled round the bend. Mr Tolliver’s hatch was open. Lieutenant Frand leaned against the side of the hatchway. She faced the cabin. Tolliver’s voice came from inside. Neither saw me.

Just outside the hatch, I propped myself against the bulkhead opposite. I was in plain sight; no one could accuse me of skulking about. Sullenly, I stared at the tails of Frand’s crisp jacket.

“They excommunicated Seafort weeks ago.” Tolliver. “Why your sudden attack of conscience?”

Ms Frand folded her arms. Lucky old biddy. Well, after they grafted my prosth, I’d be able to fold my arms too, after a fashion—

“Until now,” she told Tolliver, “I could argue that Admiralty hadn’t removed the Captain. But today, Scanlen, the presiding Bishop, impeached any officer who—”

“He’s not your presiding Bishop! He ministers to Hope—”

“He presides in my Church, and speaks for my God!” Ms Frand’s voice was agonized. “And yours, isn’t it so? And it’s beyond question that Captain Seafort harbors the Sloan woman.”

“Sarah, you watched that godawful holo their deacon shot. Would you rather they’d burned down the Captain at the spaceport? Would that have been more lawful? Would you rejoice?”

“Edgar!” Frand’s fists bunched. “I was on the bridge with you. Did I rejoice?”

“No, you dispensed a running stream of curses that curled the middies’ hair. That’s why I don’t understand—”

“I’m perplexed, and came to ask: where does duty lie?”

“Well, don’t expect me to relieve Nick.” Tolliver’s voice held a note of finality. “I’ve threatened that for the last time. He’s a madman, but he’s my madman. I’ll go down with—” A soft buzz. “Just a moment.” He came into view, took up the caller. “Tolliver, here. What, Tad? Oh, good Christ! When? Who’s there?”

Ms Frand said, “What, Edgar?”

Tolliver covered the caller. “That bloody outrider! He’s agitated, skittering back and forth. Janks says he’s rolled into the airlock. It looks like he’s leaving us.”

“It was insane to leave the lock open.”

“How else could he tell us he wanted out?” To the caller, “Sound General Quarters! Watch the fish off our bow. Key off laser safeties, prepare to fire at my command. Notify the Station. Send Romez to rouse Nick—the Captain, that is. I want him awake for this. Hold open the bridge hatch; I’m on my way!” He grabbed his jacket, thrust past Frand. To me, startled, “What the devil are you up to? Go to your—”

But I was off like a shot, running as best I could in the light grav, ricocheting from one bulkhead to another. HARRY MUSTN’T LEAVE.

Alarms shrieked. “All hands to General Quarters! Corridor hatches will seal in one minute!” Anselm’s voice was strained.

I tore past the ladder railing, leaped down the stairs.

That was a mistake.

The bow gravitron was set low. Level 1 was at Lunar gravity, one-sixth Terran. For a moment, I practically floated down the ladder.

Level 2 was controlled by the midships gravitron, which was set at one standard gee. Accelerating as I plunged, I crashed to the Level 2 deck. For a moment I lay stunned. Thank Lord God I’d fallen on my good shoulder. If I’d landed on my wound I’d have passed out.

“Thirty seconds to corridor hatch seal!”

“Oh, shit!” I lurched to my feet, raced along the corridor. I skittered past a suited figure. Another. An airlock squad, hurrying to their duty station.

“Hey, what the—”

“Outta my way!” Gasping, I raced through section seven. Section six. Finally, five hove into view, around the bend. Mr Janks and a mate stood guard, just our side of the hatch and the transplex barrier.

“Closing all hatches!”

“Randy, hold—”

The corridor hatch slid from its bulkhead pocket. As the opening narrowed, I dived through. A rubber seal scraped my heel. The hatch slammed shut. Behind me, muttered curses, pounding at the hatch panel. That would do Janks no good; on the bridge, Anselm would have keyed the overrides.

“Harry!” I pounded the transplex barrier that barred my way. The outrider was nowhere in sight. “Hey, boy!”

Tolliver’s voice crackled. “Mr Janks, Level 2 airlock is cycling. Stand by in case …” A pause. “He WHAT?” His outrage clawed through the speaker and shook me by the lapels.

“Here, fishie!” My tone was coaxing. For some deranged reason, I giggled. No, it’s not funny, you snark. Harry’s leaving, and taking Fath’s hopes with him. I pounded my one and only fist on the transplex panel.

But Harry wouldn’t hear me, in the distant airlock.

“Randy Carr! Get away from there this instant, you glitched little …” A deep breath. “Harry wants out. We don’t know why. So leave him be, lest you start a war!”

I scrambled atop the table, strained to reach the uppermost grommets holding the transplex to the bulkhead. They wouldn’t give. One-handed, I didn’t have enough leverage. How long did a frazzing airlock take to cycle? I needed to free the grommet right fucking now! Hit it, joey! Use something on the table! I bent from the waist, nearly pitched headfirst to the deck, did a wild dance to keep my balance.

“Mr Janks, I’ll open the hatch to Four. Subdue that bloody joeykid! Use your stunner!”

I righted myself, snatched up Fath’s ancient clock, hefted it to get a good grip. On tiptoe, I swung hard, bashed the east bulkhead grommet. Again. It came loose. Now, the west.

“Captain, Janks reporting, with Seaman Hostler. Where is he?” The master-at-arms’s voice wasn’t on the speaker, but he was only a meter behind me, on the far side of the sealed hatch.

“On the table, taking down the barrier! I have him in the holo-cam. DON’T TOUCH THAT, YOU IMBECILE!”

I took an ineffectual swipe at the camera, but it was beyond reach. I turned my attention back to the stubborn grommet. The metal casing of the clock had a nasty dent. I whacked the grommet, caught my knuckles. I squawked, sucking my fingers. No time, idiot.

“Sir …” Janks sounded hesitant. “If he’s taking down the barrier … we’re not suited. The airlock, and that beast and his viruses …”

Tolliver cursed a blue streak. Abruptly the speaker went dead. Then, after a moment, his voice came, more controlled. “Suit up, but for God’s sake, hurry!”

“Two minutes, sir, no more.”

The second grommet shattered. Shrapnel clanged off the far bulkhead. Now I’d have to crawl under the frazzing table for the bottom fasteners.

The hell I would.

I lay across the table, my head flopping off the edge, braced my boots against the barrier.

A bad idea. Very, very bad. A wave of nausea shook me. The overhead spun slowly.

I gulped, tasting bile. Closing my eyes, I willed away the slow drift of the corridor. With all my strength, I rammed the barrier with my heels. It jarred my spine clear up to the neck. The transplex shivered, but held.

Again.

The top of the transplex panel bent slightly. Over and again I rammed it. My feet ached. The panel bent inches, then more.

“Sir, we’re suited.”

One more time. The barrier came crashing down. I staggered to my feet.

“Very well, opening section four hatch.”

As the hatch opened, I threw over the table, kicked it hard toward the hatch. Janks, startled, leaped back. With all my might, I rammed the table leg into the bulkhead hatch seal, twisted. A section of the seal ripped. It dangled from the bulkhead.

“Why, you—” Awkward in his suit, Janks snatched at my arm.

An alarm wailed. “CORRIDOR HATCH INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. SECTION FIVE SUBJECT TO DECOMPRESSION IF—”

I evaded him, dashed down the corridor to the lock. Behind me, Janks hauled a stunner from his pouch.

Mikhael had taught me the airlock controls, that day eons past, when he, I, and Yost were on station.

The inner chamber had nearly reached vacuum. I glanced into the porthole; Harry stood motionless. I slammed the override, preventing the outer hatch from opening. I hit the emergency re-air, hoping Tolliver wouldn’t think to overrule me from the bridge. If so, I was helpless.

Harry quivered.

“Hurry up!” I danced from foot to foot like a joeykid needing to use the head. Behind me, two suited figures lumbered down the corridor.

“Randy, whatever you’re doing,” Tolliver.

“Come ON!”

Seeing my hand poised at the controls, Janks loped at me with surprising speed.

The gauge flashed green. I slapped the inner hatch panel.

The airlock hatch slid open.

Janks lunged with his stunner. I dived into the lock. Janks eyed me, Harry, the airlock. He hesitated. Coolly, I slapped the hatch closed.

Harry quivered.

My eyes darted to the outer hatch, all that lay between me and … the cold unrelenting vacuum that had killed Dad. I tried not to vomit, barely succeeded. I stamped my foot at Harry. “You goddamn BASTARD!” My voice was shrill. “Fath gave everything for you!” I waved for emphasis, realized I still brandished the dented clock. “Time! We were only trying to tell time!”

“Mr Tolliver?” Janks, outside the lock. Muffled by hatch and suit, his voice was barely audible. He scowled through the transplex porthole.

“Can you get the boy out?”

“If I shoot it, sir. The … thing.”

“Only if it harms him.” A pause. “It means to leave. We can’t let it burn through our hatch. Randy, get out of the lock!”

“Prong yourself!”

A gasp, perhaps from Tolliver, or a middy on the bridge.

I echoed the gasp, to show the depth of my contempt. Officers thought they were so bloody high and mighty.

In our tiny compartment, Harry skittered from bulkhead to bulkhead. I prayed he wouldn’t try to go through me.

“Joeyboy, if it eats through the hatch, you die of decompression!” Tolliver sounded grim.

“Better than burning.” I wasn’t sure why I said it. Fath and Corrine, not I, faced—

“What?”

“Send Janks away, I’ll come out.”

“I can’t.”

I said, “Why? You let Harry in the lock before. Janks wasn’t anywhere near.”

“But neither were you.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I won’t.” His tone was sober. I understood. The ship was his only concern.

Though it was a bit late, I tried to sound reasonable. “Sir, have Janks escort anyone who’s in section five through the corridor hatch to six. Then, if we decompress, no one will die.”

“Except you.”

“Except me.” I might care. I’d have to think about it.

“Why’d you sabotage the section four hatch?”

“To buy time. To keep Janks and Hostler busy so I could …” Talk to the outrider. It made no sense, and I didn’t say it aloud.

Harry’s movements in the airlock became more frenzied. I tried not to flinch.

Tolliver hesitated. “Randy, if I withdraw Janks, will you decompress your section?”

“Not if I can help it.” Anyway, how could I? I wasn’t armed. And I couldn’t exactly ask Harry’s help. That was our problem.

A long pause. “Very well. Mr Janks?”

“Sir, I might be able to stun him, without getting too close to the beast. And Hostler and I have lasers, if he gets too riled.” For a moment, I thought he meant me.

“No, send Hostler to clear five. Thanks to this young maniac, air seals are breached; I’ll set up six as your decon chamber. You stand guard in five, just beyond the damaged corridor hatch. Shoot if the alien tries to get past you. Otherwise, leave them alone.”

“For God’s sake, sir, why?”

Tolliver’s voice was bleak. “Randy chose to put himself in harm’s way. I expect acid or virus will get him. But the fish Outside is quiescent. My goal’s to get the outrider off Olympiad with no further loss. I’ve got airlock hatch overrides on the bridge; I could release Harry to space right now, but I won’t kill the boy while the alien’s watching.” His tone suggested he might well do so, after. “Let Randy have his moment. But if Harry goes back into the lock, I’ll cycle and expel him. Randy, at that point, if you interfere, I’ll have Janks cut you down.”

“Understood, sir.” I licked my lips. “I agree.”

“I won’t ask your word, it’s worthless. Janks, withdraw.”

“Aye aye, sir.” The clump of boots.

“And Randy?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re on your own. If this goes wrong, I’ll make no effort to save you.”

“Thank you, sir.” At least I had my pride.

I slid my fingers to the inner hatch release, peered through the porthole at the corridor. I couldn’t see Janks, but he might be lying in wait. Could I risk it?

I’d have to. Another moment trapped in the airlock with an agitated outrider, inches from deadly vacuum, and I’d lose what was left of my mind.

I keyed the hatch release.

Nothing.

Panicked, I jabbed it again, but the hatch to the corridor didn’t budge. I moaned.

You idiot. “Mr Tolliver? Open, please.” I’d forgotten about his overrides.

He didn’t deign to reply, but the inner hatch slid open. I took a step backward, toward the security of the corridor. Wait. Gritting my teeth, I thrust the clock under my arm, darted past Harry, grabbed the manual hatch rewind lever from its slot on the bulkhead, retreated again to the inner hatch, bent to the deck. Carefully, I wedged the lever against the airlock seal, preventing closure. Tolliver had no reason to trust me. I wasn’t sure I could trust him either. He might have let me stride out of the airlock, but slam it shut with Harry inside. Now, he couldn’t.

Janks was nowhere to be seen.

Sweaty, dizzy, I leaned against the bulkhead. Pull yourself together, Joey. You have your chance. You’re alone with Harry, you stopped him from leaving.

Now what are you supposed to do?

Save Fath. Communicate with this quivering blob of acid. Do what Anselm, Fath, Mikhael and Frand couldn’t.

The corridor holocam swiveled, fastened on me. Tolliver would be watching, pacing the bridge in mounting fury.

My mind was a muddy blank. In retrospect, drowning my troubles in Fath’s bottle didn’t seem so good an idea. “Come on, Harry. Out.”

He quivered, flowed from bulkhead to hatch, but didn’t leave the airlock.

I waved the clock, hoping to provoke a response, or at least get his attention. “Here, fishie, fishie, fishie!”

Nothing. I stamped my foot. “Come on, you frazzing …” I’d destroyed my life for nothing. What Tolliver would do to me didn’t bear imagining. The brig. Charges even Fath wouldn’t set aside, lest he carry favoritism to unheard of lengths. Fath would disown me, and I’d deserve it.

With no warning the outrider rocketed into the corridor, caromed off the far bulkhead. He raced toward section five, to the downed transplex barrier and Jess’s silent servos. At the last possible moment he veered aside. Jaw agape, I stood rooted in the center of the corridor, just outside the airlock.

Harry flew from bulkhead to bulkhead, abruptly careened back toward me. In the nick of time I dived into the airlock. Heart thudding against my ribs, I peered out.

Harry was perhaps two meters from my hatch.

Quivering.

It was too much.

I stormed out of the lock. “Stop that god-awful quivering!”

He paid no heed.

“What are you? Why do you hate us? Why’d you kill Kevin?” I wiped my eyes. “WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN?” With all my might I flung the clock at him.

He skittered aside, resumed his quivering.

“STOP IT!” My scream left me hoarse, but had no effect on the outrider. “Fine, want to quiver? Here!” I set my body to shaking, sidled as near to Harry as I dared. “Like it, you frazzing blob?”

If anything, he redoubled his fluttering. I did likewise.

Abruptly Harry veered to a bulkhead, skittered down the corridor, flowed a meter up the bulkhead from sheer momentum.

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” I raced down the corridor, tried to run up the bulkhead, caromed off, managed not to fall. “Here, let’s do it again!” I ran back toward the lock, slammed into the bulkhead, but was too winded to get far off the deck.

“RANDY, FOR GOD’S SAKE!”

“THERE’S NO GOD!” I set myself to quivering. Sweat poured down my face. “Fath’s wrong, you all are!” I let myself shake ever harder. In a moment, I would fly apart, and it would be over.

Harry rolled near.

“Sat … is … fied?” My breath came in labored gasps. “I c’n … do it … too!” At last, I could sustain my frenzy no longer. I stumbled to the lock, kicked free the hatch lever I’d used to jam the lock. “Go, you alien fuck!”

Harry didn’t move.

“Get in! You’ll be home in a minute!”

His colors pulsed.

I snatched up the clock! “A minute!” I jabbed at the second hand through shards of shattered glass. “See? That’s all we were trying to tell you!”

Harry quivered.

If I’d had two fists, I’d have beaten him to death, and his acid be damned. “Taste it!” I tossed the battered clock to the deck. He did nothing. I stood over it, squatted until my thighs touched it. “Taste the damn thing!” I stepped aside.

“Randy, it’s no use.” Tolliver’s tone was almost compassionate. The holocam gazed with unblinking eye.

With shocking speed, Harry flowed over the clock.

A sizzle.

In a moment, he rolled off. Something in the clock smoked.

“A minute!” I scuffed a small “m” on the deck. Cautiously, I picked up the ruined clock. “The hand went like this.” I reached through the shards of glass, propelled the bent red pointer. I yanked back my hand, sucked blood from my fingers. Damn glass. I looked for a place to set down the ruined instrument.

The Bible, an old teapot, and the clock I’d smashed were all the mementos Fath had of his own father. More reason for him to hate me. “The hell with …”

My voice trailed off.

Harry drew near. His colors flowed. From the mass where his torso would be, if he’d had one, slowly, an appendage emerged.

I glanced down the corridor. A dash to safety, to … Where? The outrider moved ten times faster than I.

I shrank back against the bulkhead. Harry was a meter away. Half a meter. The appendage reached out.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Dad, pray for me. I can’t; I don’t believe in—

I opened one eye the tiniest iota. Harry had drawn himself up, to my height or more. The appendage loomed, inches from my face. I turned my head, pressed my cheek to the bulkhead, my only hand squeezed to my side. If I touched Harry, I’d die all the sooner. “Mr Tolliver, you were right.” My voice was unsteady. “It was stupid, I’m sorry, good-bye—”

The appendage touched my temple. My hair sizzled. White fire clawed my scalp. I shrieked. My gut wrenched. I waited for the final embrace of agony.

Slowly, the appendage withdrew.

Involuntarily quivering as if I were an outrider, I stood tight against the bulkhead, trying not to breathe. The throbbing pain was beyond belief.

I hadn’t thought it possible for Harry to edge closer, but he did. I didn’t move, because I couldn’t. Any motion, even a deep breath, and I’d touch him.

To my horror, another appendage began to form. Like the other, it grew from his central mass. Eyes tearing, temple throbbing unbearably, I awaited the inevitable.

A new voice, on the speaker. Mr Janks. Perhaps, in his excitement, he’d miskeyed his suit radio. “Sir, should I try—”

“No, Randy’s made his bed. After he’s dead we’ll let the alien go; clearly the boy provoked him. Perhaps we can salvage some sort of peace.”

As the appendage lengthened, its end narrowed to a fingerlike dimension. After a moment, it seemed to grow still. Its color changed in some subtle way I couldn’t describe. Its surface seemed to … what? Crust over. After a moment or two, the appendage was a dull, gunmetal-gray. It reached toward my cheek.

I whimpered. Courage. It’ll be over in a moment.

Summoning a resolve I’d not known I had, I watched the approach of my death.

The appendage touched my cheek.

I flinched, and gasped.

It was rough, like unpolished iron. It grated an inch or so along my cheek.

It didn’t burn.

Harry rolled back. For a moment, he quivered.

Fath, Dad, God help me, I can’t do this on my own.

Ever so slowly, battling myself every inch of the way, I forced my hand to rise, uncurled a finger. With glacial momentum, I moved it ever closer to the alien. My heart tried to leap clear of my chest.

Lips moving in what might have been prayer, I forced my finger to close the distance between us. At last, it touched the rough gray appendage.

I squealed, jerked back my hand, stared at the fingers. My unburnt fingers. After a time, I reached out, touched him again, made my forefinger slide down the appendage, about as far as the appendage had rasped on my cheek.

I straightened my knees, willed myself to stop trembling.

Harry and I stood inches apart.

Motionless, the both of us.

And he didn’t quiver.

It lasted a minute, or perhaps only seconds. My voice was hushed. “Mr Tolliver?”

“I saw.”

Harry skittered. My heart plunged. But he stopped meters away, above the clock. His form dissolved, and he lost half his height. The appendage drooped, touched the clock face. It found the still second hand, nudged it a few degrees.

With infinite caution, I crouched near. Carefully, trying not to cut myself, I worked the second hand around to its starting point. “Minute.” I began to scuff the deck, straightened abruptly. “Jess, a plate!”

“Communication requires the approval of an officer presiding over—”

The speaker crackled. “Granted!”

“Very well.”

“An ‘m,’ Jess. Hurry.”

The servo’s etching tool drew the letter. Mechanically, the servo bent, dropped the plate on the deck.

Harry flowed over it. A hiss.

When he withdrew, another “m.” And a crude clock face. In any event, a circle with a stick radius.

“Oh, God, Jess, quick! Sixty circles like his, and a small ‘h.’” It seemed to take forever. At last, the circles were drawn.

“Now, twenty-four of the ‘h,’ and a small ‘d.’ Then—”

“Easy. Let him assimilate it.”

“What if he heads for the airlock? Hurry, Jess!” I paced, absently rubbed my cheek, recoiled from the stab of torment. “Then, thirty ‘d’s, with a small ‘m.’ No, that’s minutes, we can’t—try capital ‘MO,’ he shouldn’t confuse—”

“Anselm, Tamarov, Frand to section four. Flank!”

The outrider squatted busily over our plates.

“The clock’s broke, we need a working second hand. Can the Chief make a clock, any crude one will do—oh, please, hurry!” I ran about the corridor, ready to climb the bulkheads anew. My arm had a tremor.

“Mr McAndrews, send a party to reset the barrier. Anselm, you’re in charge. Keep him talking. Harry, that is. Bring Mr Carr to the bridge.”

Abruptly Harry broke off reading. His gray appendage extended, brushed my arm. To my amazement, it calmed me. My tremor dissipated.

I stared aghast at my wrist. “Holy Lord God in Heaven!”

“What’s wrong?” Tolliver’s voice was sharp. “Randy, answer!”

“Jess, a new symbol! Use … use a capital ‘E.’ It’s easy to draw, and …” Carelessly, I nudged the aliens appendage. I shook my arm, my legs, as much of my body as I could. “Look, Harry!” I whirled, wrenched the just-finished ‘E’ plate from the servo, dropped it before him. “Taste.” I made myself quiver even harder.

The thud of footsteps, down the corridor. Tad Anselm, Mik, Lieutenant Frand. They hadn’t bothered to suit, but Anselm wore a pistol. “Enough, Randy. You’re wanted on—”

Harry rolled off the plate. Anselm skidded to a stop, regarded him warily.

Harry began to quiver. I watched, with dread and hope.

He rolled back onto the plate. An “E.”

“Jess, a dead human! An E!”

Anselm seized my arm. “Now, joey!”

“Wait!”

The alien tasted. I tried to break free from Tad, couldn’t manage with only one arm. In desperation, I leaned over and bit him. He squawked and let go.

I cried, “What’d he write? Just tell me what he wrote!”

Ms Frand peered. “An ‘E.’ So we know ‘E’ means ‘quiver.’ It’s not much of—”

Harry flowed over the plate. As one, we paused.

He rolled clear.

A dead fish. A dead outrider. And an “E.”

I looked from one to another of us. “Don’t you see?” From their faces, I saw they didn’t. “‘E’ means ‘quiver.’ He draws a quiver when we show him death. ‘E’ for emotion! Fear. Quiver means fear, just like with us!”

Chief McAndrews burst upon us, a timer in hand. Behind him, a work party, with a fresh sheet of transplex for the barrier.

A nod from Anselm. Mikhael took my arm.

“Jess, show him ‘war,’ and an ‘E.’”

Mr Janks snagged my opposite ear.

I blurted, “Draw a fish and a ship, side by side, undamaged! And the negative sign with the ‘E.’ Make a new word for peace.”

My words grew faster, to a gabble. “Write the symbol for Fusing, and integrate it with days and months. Show how long we take to Fuse home, ask him about his own planet …”

Together, they dragged me to the hatch.

Harry watched with barely a quiver.