Children of Hope Read Online Free PDF Page A

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