A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [71]
Thor’h looked appalled, but Jora’h could not take back the words. He tried to be conciliatory. “We must think beyond ourselves—both of us.”
35
TASIA TAMBLYN
Returning to the main EDF base on Mars, Admiral Willis’s siege fleet received full military honors and a Remora escort. They were heady with success—an unusual feeling for them, after so many setbacks against the hydrogues.
The homebound soldiers recorded high-spirited greetings for their families and loved ones. While tankers unloaded the ekti stockpiles confiscated from the stubborn Yrekan colonists, scattered interviews played across the media networks on Earth. The “Yreka Insurrection” had been put down with minimal casualties or collateral damage.
Tasia Tamblyn watched the reports, not surprised that the accounts were grossly distorted. The lowly colonists had kept only a fraction of the stardrive fuel that the commentaries implied, but General Lanyan needed to justify the siege.
She fumed at the injustice, knowing full well what a lie it was. The damage had been unnecessary. But then, this was the Big Goose, after all…
As she returned to her barracks, her compy, EA, attended to her unpacking. The small robot, only half as tall as Tasia, bustled about doing pre-programmed tasks while keeping her master company.
Back at the water mines on Plumas, Tasia and EA had often found places to amuse themselves deep in the grottoes beneath the ice sheets. Now Tasia wondered if she would ever go back home. Her stint with the Eddies should have been over already, but she had received a mandatory extension due to the hydrogue war. The Eddies could not afford to lose trained personnel, now that naïve hopes of a quick victory had faded. The ranks would have vanished like dissipating smoke as soon as the new recruits realized that a military career was not all heroic fun.
“Did you have an enjoyable time at Yreka, Tasia?” EA asked while removing rumpled garments from her master’s duffel.
“No, I did not, EA.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Tasia.”
In a way, the scrappy Yrekans reminded her of Roamer clans, independent people who had built their homes without much help from the Hansa. “I grew up thinking the Goose only had a grudge against Roamers, but on Yreka I saw that they’re just as arrogant toward their own colonists.”
“Perhaps the Hanseatic League does not appreciate those who refuse to conform.”
She pursed her lips. “I think you’re on to something there, EA.”
“Thank you, Tasia.”
In the mess hall, she and Robb sat together, as usual. They barely admitted that they were a couple, though everyone else in the division could see what was going on and politely pretended not to notice. The dark-skinned young man sat across from her, talking about the various maneuvers he intended to put his Remora wings through, avoiding any discussion of the siege, because he knew how much it still disturbed Tasia.
She got them each coffee from a dispenser while he carried trays of processed, nutritionally balanced glop—beef flavored, tonight. Before Tasia took her first bite, the mess hall’s wallscreen shimmered into an image of King Peter praising the siege force for “restoring vitally needed ekti to the Hanseatic League.” The King also issued a stern, though somehow lackluster, warning to other colonies, as if he were reading from a script. “All humans must cooperate to see us through this struggle. Colonies cannot think only of themselves instead of the greater needs of humanity.”
“Shizz, Brindle,” Tasia mumbled from the corner of her mouth, “with all that stardrive fuel we acquired, you think everybody’ll get a huge boost in the next paycheck?”
He frowned at her sarcasm. “All colonies received the same rationing order, Tasia. We weren’t playing favorites or picking scapegoats. Were we supposed to just let the Yrekans thumb their noses at us?”
Her eyes flashed. “But all colonies didn’t start with equal resources. Not everyone’s in a position to survive the same austerity measures. If a colony is already on the thinnest of shoestrings, it can’t afford to start