Read Online Children of Hope by David Feintuch - Free Book Online Page B

Hope Nation, Where Fish Were Found. You’d have to be glitched to wear that. Apparently many of these joeys were.
    Nearby, a shadeless stall offered hastily potted local weeds of no particular distinction. At the next table flourished a bizarre collection of so-called native handicrafts. Most were machine-carved softwoods, from trees cut from our plantations when new fields were cleared.
    “Look.” Kevin gave me a nudge.
    At a stall whose sign read NATIVE ANTIQUE DOLLS, an excited woman and her daughters clawed at small figures clothed in outlandish costumes, while the husband waited indulgently.
    “Harvest festiva,” rasped the stall’s exotic proprietor. Oversized gold earrings jangled under her colorful kerchief. “Hold ever’ other year. You just missed.” Judiciously, she lifted a more expensive doll, one of a set dressed in a motley mix of gear: farm clothes, shipboard hand-me-downs, ties, and neckerchiefs. “Original colonists wore. Very rare dolls.”
    I raised an eyebrow. The stallkeeper glanced at me coolly.
    “Hi, Rand’.” She fixed her attention on her prospect. “Seventy Unies. Ain’ she beautiful?”
    I suppressed a grin, left Dr Mantiet to her prey. In real life, she taught psychology at Centraltown University, and had no accent I could discern. Lord knew where she derived the pidgin English she affected. She described her zoo-days stall as both a lucrative hobby and a seminar in applied psychology.
    Still, the zoo was fun to watch. Unethical? Perhaps, but every ship’s library carried holos on Hope Nation; only those joeys who insisted on being gullible were fooled, and the Commonweal cheerfully skinned them alive.
    I sniffed at the pungent scent of frying sausage. Of their own volition my feet bore me closer. Naturally, prices were inflated, but Kevin had coin, and his father had slipped me a few Unies when dropping us off.
    We stood about munching garlic-fried meat in toasted buns, while chatter swirled about us.
    “—if that frazzing Pandeker nags Pa one more time—”
    “He ignores it. You should too.”
    A sharp blow to my shoulder squirted the sausage from my fingers. It splatted on the pavement.
    “Damn it to hell. ” I spoke too loudly, and caught glares of disapproval.
    “Hey, joey, sorry.” A pleasant tenor, behind me. “Lemme buy you another.”
    “Watch where you’re …” I peered up. A ship’s officer, about twenty, with another young officer as companion. They were dressed for shore leave: no ties, jackets slung over their shoulders.
    I frowned at his insignia. A midshipman, if I read his bars right. Dad had taught me, years ago, but I’d forgotten much of it. Length-of-service pins, for example, were gibberish.
    “Yeah, Mikhael, watch where you’re going.” The middy’s companion grinned down at me. “Mik’s terminally clumsy, but he means no harm.” To his friend, “Got coin?” He fished in his own pocket. “You, there, give this joeykid a fresh sausage.”
    His insignia was different from his mate’s. I said tentatively, “You’re a lieutenant?”
    “As of last week, yes.” He thrust out a hand. “Tad Anselm at your service.” His grin was so engaging I had to smile back.
    I entrusted my hand to his big paw. Randy Ca—Carlson.” It was a lie, and I hated it. Perhaps in recompense, I brought forth my best manners. “Glad to meet you, sir. This is my friend, Kevin Dakko.”
    The middy waited his turn. “Mikhael Tamarov.”
    We shook hands all around.
    “So, joeys,” said the lieutenant. “What’s to do around here?”
    “You mean, for the day?”
    “Or more. We’re on long-leave. A month, but Mik won’t want to leave the ship for more than a week.”
    “Yes, I do, Tad.” The middy frowned. “Sir.”
    “Off ship, we forget that.”
    “Right. Believe me, I’ll use my month. I just want to check on Pa from time to time.”
    I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t know much about the Navy, but … an officer bringing along his father?
    As if