3

“THANKS FOR THE RIDE.” On the outskirts of Centraltown, I climbed down from the dusty grain hauler, aching and hungry. The driver fed it electrons; with a muted purr, it rumbled off.

I’d spent the morning stabbing my thumb at the wind, alongside of Plantation Road. It was a Plumwell rig that had pulled over at last, not that I’d doubted sooner or later someone would take me to the city. Hope Nation wasn’t the old fearful Terran world our ancestors had fled; we looked after one another, and a joey needing a lift got one. It was safe; outside Centraltown’s seedier districts crime was a rarity.

Not that Centraltown lacked a rough side. Folks in the Zone muttered that the city was growing too fast. Each supply ship from home system off-loaded its quota of hopeful colonists, and our own population was reproducing at a more than healthy rate. I had several grown sibs, and that pattern wasn’t uncommon.

The oldest of us was Zack, Anthony’s father. Then came Kate, and their baby brother Billy who was now turning forty, and then after a long gap and a second marriage, me. Of course, it helped that Dad had started young; he’d had his first joeykid while still a middy in the Navy, assigned by Nick Seafort as liaison to the planters after the last U.N. ships abandoned us.

When Dad was young, the spaceport had been at the far edge of town. Not now. Modular housing—plain, utilitarian, drab—sprouted everywhere. Much of it dated from the years after the fish dropped their bomb, when it was all we could afford. Many of the hastily erected buildings had since gone to seed.

I turned my mind to breakfast.

Where would I go, Judy had wondered, and her mom had interrupted before we could come up with an answer.

All the chill night, huddled in a Winthrop shed, I’d chewed at a fingernail, considering my options. At home I had credit chips from chores money, but retrieving them was too risky. I couldn’t chance Anthony getting his hands on me just yet. So I was reduced to the clothes on my back, and my wits.

And my friends. Alex Hopewell might help, or perhaps the Mantiets, but my escapade was public knowledge, since I’d erupted at the party, in full view of the community. Most any parent would call Anthony at the sight of me.

So, I’d chosen Centraltown.

Kevin Dakko and I had hit it off so well. If I could only find his house … I’d seen it once, in October, just after school started. Anth had driven me to town to spend a Sunday with Kev. It wasn’t the same between us, stuck in a tiny house with its manicured lawn, and only one lone tree on the whole place. I’d felt hemmed in, on a tiny patch of sterile land. And there was nothing I could show or teach him.

Still, he was only a year older than me, and would understand. During the summer we’d grown close, after a rocky start of half-hostile wrestling and dominance games, which he’d inevitably win. We’d worked past that into shared confidences, tentative at first, and ultimately, trust.

To get to Kev’s house, I could call a taxi. There was even a bus route. But I was utterly ’rupt, and a Carr couldn’t beg. I thrust my hands in my empty pockets, and began the long trek downtown.

The spaceport was almost deserted, as might be expected. We had little intrasystem traffic; only when the great Naval liners moored overhead did the place really come to life. Sure, mining ships shuttled between us and Three, and there were occasionally other vessels, but not enough to keep the restaurants open, except for a bar or two, and those would toss me on my ear if I even looked in.

Regardless how history holos pictured it, these days liquor laws were strictly enforced against a minor and whoever served him, here just as on Earth. It had been so for generations. Dad told me about a Plumwell cousin who’d spent six months in juvie for a tube of beer. Luckily, it was his first offense.

But nothing barred me from a restaurant, if only I had the coin.

Sometimes, for old times’ sake, Dad would take us on a lazy Sunday to Haulers’ Rest, a traditional way-stop along Plantation Road. Pancakes drowning in syrup, fresh corn, honey-baked ham. Mom would slather butter on enormous hot loaves of homemade bread and pass it …

Stop that, you idiot!

Too late. My stomach was churning. Sighing, I buttoned my jacket, bowed my head, strode on.

Kevin’s house was on Churchill Road, not far from the rebuilt Cathedral. I trudged past the huge edifice; I had no interest in its soaring spires, its rough-hewn fortress walls. As far as I was concerned, the Cathedral was enemy territory. I grimaced. So, at least for now, was our own estate. Not that I’d intended to leave it forever when I’d told off the Bishop.

Two blocks east, a block crosstown. Kev’s father had made us attend morning services; at least it helped me place the landmark in relation to his home. The Archbishop himself, old Andori, had preached; I’d dozed and squirmed through the endless ritual. Mr Dakko had shot us an occasional warning glance, though Kev told me later he wasn’t really devout.

There. Green celuwall-paneled front, solar roof.

My feet ached. I climbed the porch, rang the bell.

Nothing.

I rang again.

“All right, I’m coming!” A familiar voice that gladdened my heart. The door flew open.

“You!” Kevin gaped. “How … did your nephew bring you?” He peered past me, looking for my ride. His curly black hair rippled in the afternoon wind.

“Nah.” I managed to sound nonchalant. “Thought I’d drop by.” Let him think I could get about on my own, a full year and more younger than he. In a way, it was true; I had made it to Centraltown on my own. “Howya been?”

“Well, come on!” He stood aside, gestured me to the hall. “I was just fixing a snack. Want some?”

Thank you, Lord. “I guess.”

I gazed wistfully at the remainder of the coffee cake, but Kevin seemed oblivious. On the other hand, he was absorbed in the story I’d spewed forth in response to his casual questions. I swallowed a lump. At fourteen I was almost of age, even if the law didn’t see it so. Why did I crave his counsel, perhaps even his guidance? He was just turning sixteen.

“Kev, I’m in trouble.”

His tone was gentle. “I know.”

“You heard?”

“You show up on my doorstep, your clothes wrinkled, the look in your eyes practically begging me not to turn you away … what went wrong, Randy?”

As I poured out my troubles, a leaden weight in my chest began to lift. When I was done, I stared at the table, brooding, hungry, ashamed.

“So.”

My attention jerked from the cake, so near to my plate, and so far.

“You’ll want to stay here.” It was more statement than question.

I shrugged. “I suppose.” In a distant recess of my mind, Dad frowned. Kev deserved better, not only because I needed a place to stay, but because his offer—if that’s what it was—was generous and kind. “I’d really like that. Do you think I could?” Only for a while, I added silently, until I figured what to do next.

“Fine by me, but we’ll have to ask Dad. If I invited you without his approval …” He rolled his eyes.

I nodded sourly. Parents—and older nephews—could be an intolerable burden. “He’ll be home soon?”

“Not for hours.” He threw on his jacket. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“The shop. Better chance he’ll say yes if we don’t spring it on him late at night.” He headed for the door.

Another long walk? My body groaned its protest, but dutifully I followed.

It wasn’t that far, it turned out. Just a mile or so, past Churchill Park, through the maze of downtown stores and offices. Past the Naval barracks. We were no longer a colony, but in practical terms we had little choice but to allow the U.N. Navy its downtown barracks, and its Admiralty House near the spaceport. By U.N. regs, sailors were entitled to thirty days’ long-leave after a voyage of nine months or more; the sprawling barracks was the sensible and traditional solution to housing.

I’d once asked Anth why we didn’t build high, the way the holos showed Terran cities. “Because land’s available,” he’d said. “Consider: we’ve more land mass than Earth itself, and only three cities to speak of.”

“There’s dozens of—”

“Places like Tyre, or Winthrop? I’m not talking about country towns.” He shook his head to shut off debate. “When you’re older and seen the worlds, you’ll understand.”

Hah. As if Anthony had ever seen much beyond Detour, a few weeks by Fusion. He’d toured Constantine, Earth’s newest colony. And that was about it. I’d stuck out my tongue, at his back. He’d seen, in the window reflection, and booted me from his study.

Now, striding beside Kevin, I grimaced. In truth, I didn’t always treat Anthony that well, though I’d be loath to admit it. Take last night: he’d unbent enough to admit he was in trouble, and I was compounding it by running away. Well, I wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t lost his temper and—

“We’re here.”

I peered about. We were in the heart of Centraltown’s business district, such as it was. Buildings of three stories or more cast long shadows on the scrupulously clean street.

DAKKO & SON read the sign. It was attached to what was, for Centraltown, an imposing edifice. A full five stories, fronted in granite blocks. The door handle was ornate antique brass, and gleamed.

“Are you the son?”

“No, Dad is.” He guided me in.

The lobby was, I suppose, a typical reception area. I hadn’t been downtown much. A well-dressed young woman looked up with a welcoming smile. “Shall I tell him you’re here?”

“Please.” Kevin’s tone was tense.

We took seats. “What’s your dad do?”

“We started out as chandlers to the Navy. Victuallers,” Kev added, seeing my incomprehension. “You know. Suppliers. Then Dad bought into the grain mills, and—”

“He’ll see you now.”

Kevin shot to his feet, yanked a comb from his pocket, whipped it through his hair. He tugged at his shirt, straightened his collar. I couldn’t help grinning, though it made him frown. He strode to a closed door, peered in. “Dad?” His tone was cautiously polite.

I could find other places to stay, if that’s how it would be. Kevin actually sounded afraid of his old man. Where was the scorn that had dripped from his voice a few months past, when we sat cross-legged on our beds?

The door was ajar, but their voices were too low for me to catch many words. Kev sounded earnest. He paused, answered a question. Once, he pointed to the lobby, and my chair. Then more murmurs. Questions. “No,” Kevin replied, several times. “No, sir.”

At last, he poked his head into the hall, gestured urgently. I uncurled myself, headed for Mr Dakko’s office.

My school—Outer Central Academy—had a principal, Mr Warzburg. His office was at the end of a long hall. If you got sent there, the best you could hope for was a stern lecture. For serious offenses you’d get really hard whacks with the strap he kept on the wall. Once, they’d caught Alex complaining about the “goddamn tomatoes” he had to process, and the crack of his chastisement echoed all the way to the ball court. Afterward, a very subdued young Hopewell had made his shamefaced way outside. Blasphemy wasn’t tolerated.

It hadn’t happened to me yet, though I’d come close.

There was that sense of dread, trudging to Mr Warzburg’s office, that I felt now. Abruptly I wished I weren’t so disheveled, that I hadn’t spent the night curled in a grimy shed.

I shuffled in. Staying with Kevin was beginning to seem a really bad idea. Perhaps if I called Anthony, made my tone sufficiently meek …

Kevin’s father tipped his chair back against the window, hands clasped behind his head. He was slim, and wore casual business dress. His plain, scarred desk held nothing but a caller and a stack of holochips.

At the sight of me he came to his feet. His hair, once black, was shot through with jets of gray. A brief smile, which softened the lines on his face. “Hi. I’m Chris Dakko.” He extended a hand for a firm shake.

I mumbled something, found I had to repeat it to be heard. “We’ve met, sir.”

“Yes, you went to church with us.” Blue eyes lit me like a searchlight.

I flushed. One’s sins come back to haunt one.

Kevin glanced between us, licking his lips.

“My son says you need refuge.” Mr Dakko’s tone was dry.

“Yessir.” My voice squeaked. I blushed furiously. “Just for a few days.” I couldn’t ask for more.

From his cracked leather seat, he studied me. “I know your uncle Anthony.”

“I’m the uncle.” Why did I sound apologetic? “He’s my nephew.”

“Ah, yes. You’re Derek’s boy.” Mr Dakko’s fingers drummed the desktop. “Have you committed a crime, Randy?”

Other than running away? “No, sir.” But that was bad enough. And in three days, when Independence Day break was done, I’d be counted as truant. It wasn’t just Anth who’d be after me.

“Are they searching for you?” Had Mr Dakko read my mind?

“I don’t think so.” Anthony’s style would be more to let me starve, until I came crawling back. And then lower the boom.

“I’ll have to tell him where you are.”

“Why?” I knew I sounded sullen, but couldn’t help it. “He doesn’t have custody.”

“Who does?”

“My mother. Sandra Carr.”

“I thought the Stadholder was raising you.”

“He is. Was.” I struggled to explain. “He doesn’t have papers. Anything he tells me, though, he has Mom’s assent.” Mom was lost to the comfort of her chemdreams, though I’d die before I told an outsider like Mr Dakko. Some matters we Carrs kept private.

“Mppf.” He rocked, folding his arms. Then, “Well, your nephew’s no great friend of mine, but I won’t hide you. If he asks, I’ll tell him you’re with us.” The ghost of a smile. “But I doubt he’ll ask.”

“Thank you.” Under his minute scrutiny, I shuffled my feet.

“More important, I won’t get trapped between the Carrs and the Bishop.”

“In what, sir?” No sooner were the words out than I realized I shouldn’t have asked.

Anth was in trouble, he’d told me, and my defiance had made it worse. I was supposed to know about such matters. I was a Carr, wasn’t I? Perhaps I should go home after all, and …

No. Anth had to realize I was nearly grown. I couldn’t crawl to him. He’d have to come to me.

“In anything. You can stay the night. Tomorrow, I’ll decide if it’ll be longer. But if Mr Carr tells me you’re to go home, you go. In the meantime, keep away from the Cathedral. Really, I should steer clear of you, but you’re Kevin’s friend, and your family took him in when …” He threw up his hands. “Enough. Kev will show you your room, and you’ll help fix dinner. We’ll eat when I get home.” He eyed my rumpled shirt. “You have clothes?”

I shook my head, ashamed. It wasn’t as if I’d planned to leave home, for Christ’s sake.

“Kevin, sort through the closet in the green bedroom where I packed away your old things. They might fit.”

“Yes, sir.” Kev tugged me toward the door. “Thanks, Dad.”

“And show Randy where the shower is. We should all be clean for dinner.”

I blushed to the tips of my ears. “Thank you.” It was no more than a mumble.

On the way home, Kev took it easy on my tired feet. “That’s where the reservoir used to be, and the hospital. Back when the fish bombed us …”

I barely listened. It was ancient history, and I already knew. “Jeez, your dad is strict.”

“Yeah, well …” Kev strode a few more paces. “He claims he was a real heller when he was a joeykid, and he’s determined I won’t be.” He kicked a pebble. “He’s nice enough, I guess. But he embarrassed me, the way he was looking you over.”

“Hell, he had to decide. It’s his home.”

“Mine too,” Kev said.

“What did he mean about taking you in?”

“Last spring, before he put me in the farm program, we didn’t get along too good.” He reddened.

“What’s your grandfather think about it?”

“Huh?”

“Dakko & Son. If your dad’s the son …”

“Oh, Grandpa. He died last winter. The T.”

My breath hissed. “Melanoma T?”

“Yeah. Grandpa loved to travel, and he started interstellar late. The odds finally caught up with him. He was ninety.”

It was one of the drawbacks of sailing among the colonies. Fusion drives generated the N-waves that enabled our ships to bypass the speed of light. But the waves could be deadly. Every so often they mutated simple melanoma, which was curable, into melanoma T, which generally was not. That’s why the U.N. Navy recruited joeykids as young as thirteen to cadet Academy; if you were exposed within five years of puberty, the risk was much reduced. It was in a bunch of physics stuff I was supposed to take next year. Who cared? Only an idiot would want to be cooped in a ship a year at a time.

I said so.

Kev’s face tightened. “Don’t call Grandpa an idiot.”

Oops. “I didn’t mean that.”

“He was really cool.” We walked a while. Presently, the heel of his hand flicked past his eye, as if wiping away an itch.

I wished I hadn’t unsettled him. “Kev …” I stopped short. “If my being here stirs up trouble between you and your—”

“No, once Dad agreed, it’s all right. He’s just got this attitude …” A vague wave of the hand. “I do what I want most of the time, and don’t even have to let him know. But when he tells me to do something …” A glum shake of the head. “He says I’ll be raised better than he, and I have no choice in the matter. Grandpa thought it was funny.”

“What’s your mom like?”

“Who knows? She’s lived on Constantine for thirteen years.”

“How come you didn’t go?”

“She has my sister.”

It made no sense, but I kept quiet. Family arrangements weren’t to be pried into. It was gauche, whatever that meant. Or so Anthony warned me.

Kevin sighed. “Dad doesn’t believe in cloning. Says it plays hell with the gene pool.”

He’d opened the subject, so I was free to inquire. “You had a host mother?”

“No, they each wanted a joeykid, so they married. When they had two, they split.”

“Christ, that’s a breeding farm!”

Kevin said nothing. His pace increased, until I had to run to keep up. I grabbed his arm, but he threw me off. “Don’t hold me!”

I’d had a miserable day, after a worse night. “Yell at me, or hit me, or whatever you want. Just talk to me!”

“Cool jets.” Reluctantly, he slowed. “Joey, why do you say whatever comes to your mind, no matter who it hurts?”

“Because I’m stupid!” I spun away, fists clenched. He mustn’t see me on the ragged edge. He’d despise me.

“No, you’re not.” His mood had turned, and he was the gentle Kev I craved. For an instant, his hand flitted to my shoulder. “I bet you’re starved. Let’s get dinner ready.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“A shed isn’t a great place to sleep.” His tone made it an offering.

I essayed a smile. “Ever try it?”

“I camped out at Grandpa’s a couple of times, when Dad and I weren’t speaking.” At long last, we turned onto his block. “That ever happen to you?”

“No.” Dad and I always spoke. Derek Carr was the finest man who’d ever lived. I’d kill anyone who said otherwise.

Later, in the shower, for some reason a tear or two swirled down the drain along with the cool, refreshing soapy water.

In the morning, Kevin poked his head into my bedroom. “Dad’s gonna put you to work today.”

I blinked away sleep. “What about you?”

“School.”

“Can’t you do that later?”

“Not virtual, dummy. I gotta be there.”

I made a face. At my school, physical presence wasn’t always required; three days a week we just netted.

“Hey.” Kev’s tone was elaborately offhand. “Here.” He tossed a ten-Unie note on the bed.

“What’s that for?”

“Just because.” He shrugged. “Case you need lunch or something.”

“Kev, I can’t take your—”

“Then it’s a loan, ’til you’re settled.”

I said with wonder, realizing it was true, “You’re my best friend.”

In the doorway he hesitated, as if reluctant to leave. “You don’t mind helping Dad?”

“Course not.” Did he think I expected a free ride? I was no trannie; the Carrs paid their way. I’d see Kev was repaid too. Sooner than he thought. “Does your father want me now?”

“He’ll be leaving in a half hour.”

“I’ll be ready.” I bounded out of bed, grimaced at the clothing I had to don. The only pants of Kevins that fit me were shorts that emphasized my gangly legs. And the shirt was something only a really young joeykid would pick. I sighed. Next time you leave home, Randy, pack a suitcase.

“Ah, there you are.” Mr Dakko greeted me from the breakfast table.

“Good morning,” I said cheerfully.

His lips tightened.

Inwardly, I sighed. “Good morning, sir.” It was his house; if I wanted to live in it … Was I better off with Anthony? Odd, that I was willing to tender this stranger more courtesy than I’d show my own—

His steely eyes locked on mine. “Last night, what you most needed was a good meal and bed. Now we ought to talk.”

I nodded, apprehensive. He passed me oatmeal, cold boiled eggs, bread. I dug in.

“Kevin really likes you, joey. I’ve always felt…” A frown. “Walter didn’t always approve of my friends, but—”

“Walter?”

“My father. We settled here together, with my mother, Galena. She’s gone now. Walter didn’t care for Greg Attani, or some of the others …” For a moment, he bobbed in a sea of memories. “But he never interfered with my friendships.”

Is that all I was—his son’s friend he disapproved of?

Again, he read my mind. “Of course, I’d rather see Kev with you than some of the … well. You know. My point is, his friends are for him to select. So if he wants to help one of them, naturally I’m inclined. But you’re a special case.”

“Because my nephew is the Stadholder.” My tone was bitter.

“Of course.” His blue eyes seemed to penetrate my soul. “Why else? Now, we’re a small community and provincial, but firmly settled in the rule of law. Anthony Carr can’t seize my property or arrest me. However, I won’t make the head of government my enemy; he’d have too many small means to hurt me.”

“You’re sending me back.” I braced myself for the inevitable.

“Of course not!” He threw down his napkin, and his voice sharpened. “You think your precious planters are the only ones with honor? Didn’t I say you could stay?”

I found myself nodding hurriedly, wanting to do anything to seem agreeable. I was beginning to suspect that Mr Dakko didn’t suffer fools gladly, though I wasn’t sure what that meant. It was a phrase Dad had used, now and again.

“So, joeyboy. Tell me what’s going on between you two, and why.”

I wiped oatmeal from my lip. “Anth bullies me.”

“How?”

Haltingly, I explained. It wasn’t chores—we all had our work to do, and Dad and I had talked that out years ago. A Carr earned his keep. It was some of his other requirements, his insistence that—

Mr Dakko waved it away. “He talks to you about matters of state?”

“Sometimes.” It was all I intended to say. Kev’s father had no right to pry into—

“Why’d he have you provoke the Bishop?”

“What?” My voice shot into the upper registers. Blushing, I brought it down.

“That pantomime at his reception everyone’s talking about. What was the purpose?”

“Scanlen called me a—”

“What was the Stadholder’s strategy in arranging a public discourtesy? Either tell me, or leave my house.”

“I—he didn’t—but—” I stopped, drew deep breath. Then another, from sheer wonder. “You think Anthony put me up to it!”

“Of course. No joeykid would take it on himself to skirt excommunication, endure a training farm, risk his family’s properties over—” He took in my expression, and his jaw dropped. “Good Lord.” He leaned across the table, raised my chin. “Look me in the eye. Right now!”

I did, as long as I could manage.

At long last, a chuckle. “I’ll have to tell Benny and Dr Zayre we were wrong. We simply assumed …” He stood, thrust hands in pockets, strolled to the window. “Unbelievable.”

Mother would be home, in a chaise longue, curled in a warm sweater and reveries. Perhaps, if I woke her, she’d be in one of her gentler moods. “Mr Dakko?”

Nothing.

“Sir!”

Something in my tone caught his attention. He raised an eyebrow.

“What have I done? What’s the mess I made worse? Should I leave, so you and Kev won’t get hurt?”

He held up a placating palm. “No need to go.” His tone was kind. “Not yet.”

A strangled sound. To my horror, I realized I’d sobbed aloud. “I don’t know what I … I don’t understand. Tell me what’s going on.”

Again, a chuckle. “I’d intended to question you.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Dry your eyes. It’s time to be off.”

I looked about. “I thought you were giving me work.”

A note of surprise. “Not here.” He ushered me to the door.

It was a crisp day, and he seemed in no hurry to drive to his office. We detoured through the spacious park, where a few young parents sat in the sun, watching their joeykids run about.

“Since your father got in that row with the Patriarchs …”

“Huh?” It would have annoyed Anthony no end. I tried again. “Excuse me?”

“A decade ago, during the third revolution.”

I tried to look like I was following, but my face betrayed me.

“Your father. Derek. When he took us independent, we—”

“Mr Dakko, I …” It was almost shameful to admit. “I don’t always pay attention when they tell me important stuff. Could you start at the beginning?”

“Hope Nation. Where we live. It was once a U.N. colony.”

It was how he might talk to a village idiot, but I’d asked for it. “In those days a colonial Governor ran our affairs. We had no real say. You studied this?”

“Yessir.” I was anxious to redeem myself. “Back in fifth.”

“We’ve since had three revolutions. First, the Triforth rebellion.”

“She was hanged.”

“By Nick Seafort’s own hand. She tried to seize the government as the U.N. Navy retreated from the fish.” The aliens had appeared suddenly among the fleet. They were shaped something like goldfish, infinitely larger. Some of them rivaled the smaller Naval vessels in size. Extensions would swirl from their skin, begin to rotate, separate, and hurl acid at a warship’s hull. Even worse were the outriders, shapechangers that emerged from the fish, launched themselves, melted through our hulls to spread virus and wreak havoc.

I said bitterly, “The frazzing cowards in the Navy ran for home.” And left us to the marauding aliens overhead.

“Mr Carr.” His tone was odd.

“Yes?”

“I served in the U.N. Navy. There was no cowardice.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“So I’ll ask you to retract that statement.”

“I do, sir. I’m very sorry I said it.” Sweat trickled under my arms. I sat quite still. Mr Dakko wasn’t overly muscled, not so tall. He was my friend’s father; the worst he’d do was toss me out of the electricar. And yet …

Eventually, Mr Dakko’s eyes softened. “Captain Seafort put down Laura Triforth’s uprising, and, as theater commander, granted us full U.N. membership. They say when he brought the news home, the General Assembly was aghast.”

“Yes, sir. But we had a right—”

“That was the second revolution. Who was our first Stadholder?”

“Zack Hopewell.” Everyone knew that. Alex still had a swelled head over it, though it occurred nearly forty years before he was born.

“And your father?”

My chest swelled. “The third.” He’d held office for many years, always reconfirmed by the Assembly.

“For decades, Hope Nation was a member of the U.N., much as Britain, or China, or the African Federation, back on Earth. Full voting rights, our own regional government and constitution.”

I waited him out. Please, not a history lecture, please—

“Your father saw we had to be more.”

He had my full attention.

“Twelve years ago, he notified the General Assembly we were pulling out.”

What had Dad said about it? Not much; I’d been so young. But later … “It’s time we stood on our own. And it’s the only way we’ll break their bloody shipping monopoly.”

“Under the constitution, we had to give three years’ notice.” Mr Dakko found a shady spot, pulled over, rolled down the windows. A few stately genera trees stood sentinel against the winds. “Time for the U.N. Government to make its case. Seafort’s administration was in power; he said he wouldn’t hold a colony by force.”

“At least he did something right.” My voice dripped scorn.

He ignored me. “The government did nothing, but the Patriarchs sent Bishop Andori to rein us in.”

The one who’d made Dad weep.

“Almost, he succeeded. They went eyeball to eyeball, he and Derek. But the independence vote carried, and we were independent. The third revolution. Now we trade with Earth as equals. At least in theory, that—”

“Anthony says they still try to bully—”

“Young man.” His voice was quiet. “It’s rather rude to interrupt, isn’t it? Especially as you asked me to explain.”

I shrank in my seat. His laser eyes burned my cheeks. Even Anth couldn’t make me feel so low. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’m odd that way, I suppose. None of Kev’s friends like it. But it’s something I learned in the Navy. I ask courtesy, if not respect.”

“Yessir.” I was a Carr, for God’s sake, and presented myself as an ill-mannered clod. What was the matter with me?

“And I’ll give you the same. Now where were we? Trading. They still have the upper hand; it comes with the ships. No doubt your, ah, nephew’s aware. Meanwhile, on Earth, the Seafort government fell. Then Henrod Andori failed to thwart us. Now we have Scanlen as well.” Hope Nation wasn’t really big enough to need both Bishop and Archbishop, but …

I shot him a glance, hoping for permission to speak. He nodded. “Anthony’s been very careful dealing with the Church hierarchy, sir. I know that much.”

“Yes. He’s gone out of his way not to alienate them.”

Until I’d stepped in, and blasted his plans. A heathen or a Jew.

“Do you know why, Randy?”

“Because they have power? They own a lot of land, and …” I was out of my depth.

Mr Dakko hesitated. “What I tell you must go no further. Give me your word.”

“You have it. Absolutely.”

“They have power, yes. To renounce, or excommunicate. Your father, Derek, was a hero, and could stand up to them: Even he didn’t find it easy. I think …” He faltered. “There’s a rumor … no, I won’t say it, not even with your word. But Anthony hasn’t his stature. It’s no disparagement to say that. He’s too young.”

I nodded.

He asked, “You know who the Territorials are?”

“The opposite of the Supras.” The other party, in Earth’s politics.

“They’re anxious to return to power. And they’re furious Seafort let us go. The Patriarchs favor them.”

I puzzled it out. “So Scanlen and Andori …” My eyes widened. “They want to take control?”

“I say nothing against Mother Church. I don’t even think it, do you understand?”

“Yessir.”

“I imagine Ambassador McEwan would be delighted if we returned to colonial status. But I speak no ill of the Archbishop.” His tone was carefully precise.

“How does …” My voice quavered. “How does excommunication work?”

“A Bishop or the Patriarchs at home may declare it. We are a religious state, always have been. An excommunicate is barred from the Church, his property forfeit, he’s to be shunned by the community. It’s a matter of ecclesiastic law.”

I picked at my joeykid’s shorts. Anthony, what have I done? I was a child, despite my pretensions to more. If Scanlen vents his fury at me on the Stadholder, I’ve ruined my family. Dad’s family. His life.

Mr Dakko cleared his throat. “Rebellion against His authority—”

“Anthony didn’t rebel!”

“Please don’t interrupt. Though rebellion warrants excommunication, so severe a penalty is almost never invoked. In Hope Nation’s history, just once.”

“When?”

“A madman killed a priest.”

“Will I be excommunicated for telling the Bishop to fu—f—” In my cowardice, I couldn’t say it.

“Oh, I very much doubt it.” A wintry smile. “Though I’m sure he’d like to get his hands on you.” He peered out the window, at a toddler exploring a clump of bushes, and the sunny bench where his mother sat reading. “A wardship of wayward minor, that sort of thing. The courts would cooperate.”

“What would happen to me?”

“There are Church agencies, as well as private ones. Residential cottages, a correctional farm. It depends where you’re sent. A good beating, for a start; he’d see to that. And frankly, you deserve it. Don’t give me that crosswise look, joey. Scanlen merits courtesy as an adult, if nothing else. Perhaps back in the Rebellious Ages you could … A sigh. “Not that you haven’t set folk to chuckling in their tea, from here to the Venturas. More than a few of them wish they were free to …” His mouth snapped shut. “Well. Time to hit the office.”

“Sir, should I go back? I mean, after I work for you today?” I wouldn’t want him to think I meant to cadge free meals.

“Well.” He followed the road in a gentle curve. “Think about your question.”

I blinked, through fuzz.

“Do you see?”

“Not really.” What did he want me to guess?

We were outside the park. Even in Centraltown, there was little traffic. His “office” was something of an anomaly. Most everyone worked from home, except in stores.

“Think, Randy. What happens to a joeykid caught drinking?”

“Wayward minor. Juvie or Church farm.”

“And the adult who serves him?”

“Penal colony.” It went without saying.

“And the minor who flouts authority?”

I nodded.

“And the adult who encourages him?”

I was silent. Then, “Oh!” If I asked, Mr Dakko had to tell me to go home.

Again, that quick smile that lightened his eyes. “Strictly hypothetically, mind you, I’m not sure the Stadholder’s upset you’re gone.”

I said indignantly, “Why not?” Despite our quarrels, Anth cared about me. I was sure of it.

“If you returned, what then?”

“He’d give me what for.”

“And then?”

“We’d be friends.” With Anthony, once done, it was over.

“And regarding the Bishop?”

“I’d … he’d …”

“Have to turn you over, most likely. Which now, he doesn’t.”

“But that’s my problem, not his.”

“Unless he has his own issues with Bishop Scanlen. Even if he were only forced to make you apologize, he’d lose face.” Mr Dakko’s voice was quiet. “Well, here we are.” He pulled up. “Upstairs, joey.”

I was glad I’d worn Kev’s old shorts and a light shirt. Mr Dakko kept me busy moving boxes into the addition they’d just finished, and wiring in puters and other chipgear.

How ironic, I grumbled to myself. Our teachers constantly told us that we’d achieved a low-labor society, which meant more goods and services for all. On our homesteads, sophisticated AIs tended our crops. Once harvested, grains and vegetables were milled, canned, bagged, or processed in highly automated plants, until shipped aloft to the huge ships or barges that took the crops to market.

Likewise, in our cities, few offices had more than a couple of employees; puters and their electronic brethren did the rest. At home Dad had used a few old-fashioned filing cabinets; he’d often kept paper copies of important documents, damning the expense. But in general, human secretaries and receptionists were only for the very wealthy, who were trying to show off.

So when you needed sweat labor, as Mr Dakko did today, you turned to migrant hands if it were dormant season, or else you called on joeykids.

I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it, but I owed him, and didn’t resent paying. And it was good practice; if it turned out I’d left home permanently, I’d have nothing but common labor to fall back on.

Mr Dakko clearly intended to get his money’s worth. I hauled files, holovids, and chipcases, manhandled chairs up a narrow stairway, crawled behind half a dozen consoles to install surprisingly sophisticated comm gear. A short lunch break—he gave me coin and sent me to a neighborhood coffee shop—and I was back at it, testing infrared transceivers. By midafternoon I was drooping, but determined not to complain. It was a great relief when Kevin bounded up the office stairs, his school day finished.

I appreciated his help, but his presence reminded me my own school session would start in a day or so. Did I really want to be posted as a truant? It was no light matter.

Besides, I actually liked school. My teachers complained I didn’t listen, and often enough it was true. But math was cool, and so was physics. Even history wasn’t that bad, when someone like Anth took the trouble to explain it to me.

Lucky Kevin: he only had to work an hour or so before his father told us we were free to go.

As he grabbed his holovid, I hesitated, eyeing the console. “Let’s schuss the slopes a while.” Terran slang, not ours, but it was zark not to sound provincial. I slid my thumb over the ID slot, ready to log on.

“Why?”

“To see if I’ve been netted.” If Anth really wanted to haul me home, he’d post my flight on the nets, warning all netizens it was illegal to aid a runaway. And if he were really pissed, he’d post a reward.

“Might as well. You won’t leave tracks.”

My fingers dropped from the pad.

How badly did Anthony want me back?

After Dad’s third revolution, when we were really free, he’d ordered Hope Nations nets to disable trace functions. They were the mark of repressive government, he said, and Hope was a nation of free men. Nets were essential to modern life, and the Commonweal wouldn’t use them to trace and monitor its citizens.

Most folk thought it was still so. But Anthony, elected First Stadholder, had quietly reinstated primary trace. I’d have to find another way. A public caller, perhaps.

It was a new day, and a long sleep had worked wonders. Again I’d gone with Mr Dakko to his office; this time after a few hours’ labor, he’d taken me to lunch. I’d expected a nearby restaurant, but we drove to a rambling home not far from downtown. An energetic, florid woman greeted us at the carved oak door; she offered me a hand.

“Hilda, you’re ahead of me. This is Randy, one of Kevin’s friends. Randy, Dr Zayre.”

“Good to meet you.” Her handshake was firm. “I’m due back at the hospital in an hour; let’s get seated.” She gave a series of brisk instructions to the micro, and led us to benches in an enclosed, sunlit nook behind the kitchen.

Table talk ranged far and wide, from weather to politics and beyond; out of courtesy, Dr Zayre or Mr Dakko occasionally made a point to include me. Generally, I was content to sit and listen, though the conversation bored me. Over fresh salad with a cream dressing, Dr Zayre fretted about the problems of her minuscule yard. Her usual gardener had quit, seeking more highly paid plantation work. And her shed needed rebuilding and painting.

The men and women who ran the Commonweal actively discouraged an unemployed labor pool in the city, and the industrialization they claimed would inevitably follow. It was a situation that had occupied Dad, and Anth after him. Since Hope Nation’s colonial days, there’d been tension between farm and town. Laura Triforth’s rebellion and Zack Hopewell’s successor government had wrested control away from the city, vesting real political power in the Planters’ Council.

Hope Nation was an agricultural colony, its wealth inevitably tied to the fertile land. Perhaps that was why Dr Zayre found it hard to keep a gardener at paltry wages.

“Well?” The adults were looking at me expectantly.

“Huh?” Furiously, I tried to recall what she’d just said.

Ms Zayre’s tone was patient. “Would you be interested? I know the pay isn’t much, but you’d have a place to stay, and there isn’t all that much to do.”

“As your gardener?” I finally found my voice.

“And handyman. I work long hours, and don’t have time …”

I looked to Mr Dakko for guidance, but he was impassive. I couldn’t stay at Kevin’s after school began, else Mr Dakko would be harboring a wayward youth, a serious offense. Even if he had no wish to turn me in, my presence would put him in jeopardy. And he couldn’t make work for me for long; I’d be dependent on his charity. Dad would hardly have approved.

With the doctor, I’d have a real job, no matter how low the pay. And Anth would never think of looking here.

Still, I’d prefer to be near Kev. Reluctantly, I nodded. “I guess so.”

She asked, “Tomorrow, or thereabouts?”

“Yes, ma’am.” If I’d be working for her, living in her home, she deserved simple courtesy. Moreover, she and Mr Dakko were friends; I owed her as much as I did him …”

I thought back to the introductions. No, he hadn’t called me anything but “Randy.” “There’s something you should know,” I said with a grimace. “I don’t think Mr Dakko mentioned—”

“Hilda, excuse us a moment.” Mr Dakko stood. To me, “Let’s take a walk.”

I gaped.

“Now, please?” In a moment, he’d steered me out the back door. “And what was that about, joey?”

“I wanted to warn her that Anth—”

“Do you ever think before you speak?”

The silence stretched, until I stirred in unease. “Please. I don’t …” I shrugged helplessly. “I was just trying …”

“You recall our talk yesterday, in the car?”

My mind whirled. “You mustn’t advise me not to go home. But what does that … oh!”

If Dr Zayre didn’t know I was a runaway, no one could fault her for taking me in. But once she knew … Still, I’d been trying to protect her, in my thoughtless way.

My tone was humble. “I’m sorry.”

“No matter.”

“Should I come here to stay, sir?”

His eyes softened. “Randy, the Stadholder knows you and my son are friends. Sooner or later …”

“I’ll move to Dr Zayre’s.”

I didn’t have much to say for the rest of lunch.

Later, on the way home, I folded my arms, stared out the window. Mr Dakko let me brood. Abruptly, after a long while, I stirred. “Pull over, please.”

Surprised, he slowed, pulled into a quiet lane, turned off the motor. “What is it, boy?”

“There’s a lot I don’t know about politics.” The confession shamed me. “But I’m not stupid. I may act it, but I’m not.” I forced defiance from my tone. “Please, tell me what’s going on.”

“A lot’s going on, lad. What do you ask?”

I stared at my shoes. “I’m just a joeykid who’s having trouble with his family. But you treat me like …” I foundered, started over. “Today at lunch, Dr Zayre never asked my last name. I’d want to know, before inviting someone to live with me. And she never asked if I knew about flowers or was handy with tools.”

“That troubles you?”

“It makes me think she already knew. That you’d made arrangements. That, together, you’re hiding me. Are you?”

“If so, you’d object?”

“Sir, Kev and I got along, but that’s no reason to risk yourself for me. Is this to hurt Anth?”

“Why would you think so?”

A question, instead of a straight answer. He was fencing.

Shit.

I sighed, knowing what I had to do. I tried my door; it was locked. “Please let me out.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home, to face the Bishop.” To ruin my life.

“Stay a moment.” His penetrating blue eyes regarded me with new wariness. “Very well, joey, you have my word. I don’t wish to harm your nephew.” After a moment, he pursed his fingers, like a spider on a mirror. “Why are you so suspicious?”

“You have some goal. Some—” I struggled for the word Anthony would use. “—agenda. Political games, I think. I hate the way Anth treats me, but we’re family. I won’t drag him into your games.”

“But you already have.” In his face, sympathy. “The Right Reverend Scanlen is furious, and demands your return. You embarrassed him in front of everyone who matters. He named you wayward today, in a rather stiff note to the authorities.”

Bile rose, and burned my throat. I swallowed convulsively. “Then I’ll turn myself in.”

“Ah, but the Stadholder doesn’t want you in Scanlen’s hands. He can’t say it aloud, but we know. If the Bishop gets you, he has Anthony.”

“Once the Church has me to punish, I’m no issue.”

“Except to your nephew.”

“Why, sir?”

“He values you. Once the Church has you on their training farm, he’ll agree to anything they demand. Because every day you’d face the strap, a solitary penitence cell, even a fatal accident in the night.”

“Why do you care?” I was unbearably rude.

“About you? You’re my son’s friend, but that doesn’t signify so much. Look at me, joey.” He waited. “Now, please. Into my eyes.”

“Yes, sir.” His tone was something like Dad’s when I’d irked him.

His gaze wasn’t unkind. “I’ll speak frankly, as you demand. We all wish you hadn’t provoked a cris—no, a situation. Anthony Carr has been in a delicate dance with the Church, as was your father, Derek. My friends and I prefer that he emerge independent. If you go home, you’ll destroy any chance of that.” A pause, and he plunged on. “You asked for honesty? Very well: our interests and his don’t coincide in all things. In some matters we will oppose the Stadholder with all means at our disposal. But this isn’t one of those matters; in that, you have my promise. So the doctor’s home is your refuge, if you wish. As is mine.”

I couldn’t help myself. A lump in my throat, I reached across and took the comfort of his hand.