Children of Hope by David Feintuch

Naval desk, showed their IDs, signed us in as their guests. To my astonishment, that’s all it took. No DNA check, no retinoscopy.
    We strode to the waiting shuttle, agleam in the spaceport lights. Mik asked, “You been in one of these before?”
    “Of course.” Belatedly, I realized my tone was contemptuous. But Dad had taken me aloft at times. In my mind’s eye I saw him striding through the fastship’s hatch, never to return. I swallowed.
    Kevin looked nervous. “I haven’t.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “Really? But your father—”
    “Next time. Always next time.” His voice was sullen.
    We passed through weigh-in and found seats. It was one of the larger shuttles, and mostly empty.
    As we settled in, Lieutenant Anselm threw a genial arm around Kevin’s shoulder. “At liftoff, gravity will press you hard. Just lie there, try to relax. After, you’ll be weightless ’til we reach the Station. Take shallow breaths, stay buckled in. If you feel sick—”
    “He will.” Mik spoke with confidence. “Just lean to your right and barf on the lieutenant. I would, but he’d demerit me.”
    Kevin smiled weakly. “I’ll manage.”
    I hoped so. Else he’d embarrass us, and Hope Nation, before these outworlders. As for me, I’d been aloft with Dad and Anth, and hadn’t had an accident since I was six.
    Liftoff was just as Tad Anselm had promised. I lay back in my cushioned seat, gripping the armrests while the world pulsed. At length it was over. Eagerly, I unbuckled.
    “Hey, joey, stay put.”
    “I’m fine. Really.” I grabbed a handhold, pulled myself up, twisted, let myself spin slowly. “See?”
    “Don’t.” Kev’s face was green. He swallowed.
    I had to divert him quickly. “Look!” I pointed to the porthole, and Hope Nation’s green globe. “Isn’t it beautiful?” I settled myself next to him. “That’s Western Continent.”
    “I don’t care.”
    “The Venturas run from the center to the coast.” Idly, my fingers rubbed his forearm. “It’s cool, Kev. Look.”
    Dutifully, he did.
    “The old military base was near that spine. We probably can’t see much. Ever go there? It’s all a park now.”
    He squinted, leaned to the porthole. Together, we peered out. After a moment, softly, “Thanks.”
    Mikhael’s eyes were far away. Unconsciously, he smoothed his hair, straightened his tie.
    Slowly, our shuttle approached the Station.
    We didn’t have a proper station anymore, not since Seafort destroyed it. In all the years since, it had never been rebuilt. Instead, Admiralty had sent us an obsolete warship, decommissioned it, and let it serve as the core of a new Orbiting Station. Over the years we’d added new airlock bays as well as cavernous storage facilities for grains and ores. But pieces of the original vessel still poked through, and the effect was startling.
    Kevin, his vertigo forgotten, took it all in. “Look at the size of her.”
    “The Station? It’s grown over the years, but …”
    “Not that, you snark. The ship. ”
    I peered out the window, at Olympiad, whose bulk dwarfed the nearby Station. “Holy Lord God.” I didn’t know I’d spoken. She was … vast. Majestic. Something stirred within. I looked to Anselm, with something akin to awe. “That’s where you serve? In her ?
    Tad nodded with evident pride.
    I swallowed. “No wonder you’re not lonely.”
    She loomed larger as we neared.
    “We won’t moor at the Station?”
    “No need. Olympiad has ample bays. We can board directly.” He settled back in his seat.
    Mik unbuckled. “I’ll call Pa, then show you joeys around.”
    I barely heard. My eyes were fastened on the great behemoth, floating against the backdrop of a billion pinpoints of light.
    With precise care, our pilot mated us to the huge ship’s waiting bay. A click, as capture latches slid into place.
    As the starship’s gravitrons took hold, Anselm stood, grabbed his carrybag.
    The airlock hatch slid open.
    I squinted in the silent white