Hidden Empire - Kevin J. Anderson [163]
The simple act—blithely ordered by King Frederick and signed by some bureaucrat who paid little attention to whatever paper was thrust in front of him—had robbed Rlinda of her dreams, and most of her livelihood. The token payment from the EDF wouldn't be enough to buy rations for more than a year.
Instead of a bureaucrat or supply expert, though, the next sound she heard was the friendly voice of Branson Roberts, whose Blind Faith had been among the three commandeered ships. "The least they could do would be to offer us some strong drink." He came forward, and Rlinda shifted in her chair, giving him a wan smile. "A good dose of hard alcohol to help ease my heartache."
Rlinda wrapped an arm around his waist, hugging him close. "You're a good pilot, BeBob. Want a recommendation letter? You can get a commission flying reconnaissance surveys. The EDF will give you a pension, and you can have all the military rations you can eat."
"All I can stomach, you mean," he grumbled. "Not like your cooking, Rlinda."
"You're sweet," she said.
He leaned over to make the hug closer, and she pecked him on the cheek. He had curly gray-black hair that had grown too long, like a tiny thundercloud over his head. His cheeks had begun to sag a bit with age, giving him an endearing hangdog look, especially with his big brown eyes. They'd had five good years as husband and wife, passionate years, but the two had learned that they just couldn't stand being together all the time.
"Glad to hear they let you keep the Voracious Curiosity," BeBob said.
"A small enough consolation prize after losing the rest of my fleet." Rlinda shrugged. "But I'll take it, I suppose."
She climbed to her feet, and the two looked out at the flurry of activity. Cutters and welders fetched components extruded by self-contained smelters. Military engineers scrabbled over the outer surfaces of the seized commercial spacecraft. Rlinda's heart went out as she thought of the years of investment and hard work those vessels meant to the traders who had been forced to surrender them.
"Maybe I'll sign up for one of the mapping missions to other gas giants," BeBob muttered. "I hear General Lanyan is calling for fast pilots to go look for those aliens. Maybe they'll give me back the Blind Faith."
"Write your own ticket," Rlinda said. "You know I'll sign it."
In comfortable silence with each other's company, Rlinda and BeBob remained together in the dim lounge. They stared into the darkness of space, where sunlight reflected from the metal hulls and the shiny surfaces of strip-mined asteroids. Against the black-velvet universe, the bright beacons of stars shone behind dazzling Jupiter.
Finally, Rlinda stirred. "Time to get back to my one remaining ship. You're right. I'm lucky to still have it...and for now, at least, the galley is fully stocked." She raised her eyebrows at him. "Would you be amenable to letting me fix you a nice dinner? I've got a few interesting Theron ingredients left, and a special new recipe I've been wanting to try."
BeBob looked at her and practically glowed. He bent his arm behind his back, comically twisting it. "Ouch, okay, okay! I'm convinced." Then he continued more seriously, "Yes, Rlinda, I'd like that very much. It could be one of the last fancy meals I'll have in a while."
Rlinda stood next to him, staring out at the stars. "You and me both," she said. "I see plenty of tough times ahead."
74 TASIA TAMBLYN
Though Roamer commercial ships provided vital ekti and other resources for the Terran Hanseatic League, the EDF treated the "space gypsies" with distaste. Tasia figured the Eddies needed to have some sort of scapegoat until they got into a real fight with the enemy aliens. So she put up with it. She herself meant to save her energy for the right opponent.
When she'd volunteered for the