A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [72]
She sipped her bitter coffee, watching King Peter finish the brief speech. Tasia could only remember the despairing expression on the Yrekan Grand Governor’s face. “Roamers would have stuck together, helped each other out in tight times.”
“There’s always more than one point of view.” Robb laid a hand across her forearm, just to let her know what he was thinking. “Just seems like you see things only from a Roamer’s perspective. I don’t want to argue with you. Hey, I feel sorry for the Yrekans, too.”
“But you can’t do anything about it,” she said.
“No, and neither can you.”
Tasia knew he was right, and she went back to her quarters to have a long scrub with cool solvent sponges. She just hoped their next assignment would let her face a real enemy for a change.
36
GENERAL KURT LANYAN
Frequent reports of prowling hydrogues made anxiety run high in the Earth Defense Forces. From the Mars command base, General Lanyan dispatched supplementary patrols throughout all ten grids, though no one believed that even well-armed scout fleets could defend themselves against an outright warglobe attack.
The General became restless as he reviewed reports from the recon teams, constantly reminded of the growing list of conscripted pilots who simply “disappeared” on assignments. He was convinced they were all deserters, cowards…scum.
“Plenty of hazards in space, General,” said Commander Patrick Fitzpatrick. “Hydrogues, asteroids, radiation storms. Ships could easily be lost without a trace.” He had been temporarily transferred from the Grid 7 fleet after returning from Yreka and now served directly under Lanyan at the Mars EDF headquarters. Because of Fitzpatrick’s family clout, the General had already made up his mind to groom the kid for a prominent position, probably close to home.
“Yes, I’m sure the AWOL pilots know all about the ‘hazards of space.’ We can’t waste time looking for them, though I’d like to grab one by the scruff of his neck and make an example.” Lanyan shoved his documents aside, switched off his screens, and stood. “I feel like a eunuch in a military uniform. We’ve got no weapons against the drogue bastards, and the Hansa is an old lady gasping her final breaths. We haven’t made any progress in five years.” He pounded a meaty fist on his desk.
Fitzpatrick commiserated, but held his silence. Given his blue-blood heritage, the kid had expected to advance his military career with a few helpful nudges and memos directed to the appropriate commanding officers. Without a doubt, he had been promoted faster than his skill warranted, but he had met the challenges well enough.
In wartime, not even the richest, most pampered officer candidate received a useless assignment. Fitzpatrick wanted to appear in publicity photos, standing tall in his fine uniform so that his family could reap the political benefits of their son’s bravery, “an upstanding example of civic duty in this time of crisis.” And the General could take advantage of that, as long as Fitzpatrick didn’t do anything embarrassing.
“Actually, I have a suggestion, sir.”
“If you can tell me how to win this war, Commander, I’ll promote you on the spot to the rank of Brigadier General.”
Fitzpatrick gave a thin smile. “Maybe it won’t win the war, General, but it may help to alleviate your restlessness. Why not command one of the scout fleets yourself? Go out for a month on recon, keep your eyes open. Justify it by saying you need firsthand intelligence about what’s happening out there.” His grin widened. “The Hansa can announce that the safety of its citizens takes such high priority that the General of the EDF himself is going to upgrade the security procedures and assess the enemy threat.”
“Good political mileage,” Lanyan said.
Fitzpatrick gestured toward the cluttered desk. “This isn’t for you, sir. Leave the bureaucratic duties to Admiral Stromo. He’s been no good as a line officer since the defeat at Jupiter.”
“Don’t disrespect your superior officers, Commander.”
The young man lowered his voice, but he was obviously