Horizon Storms - Kevin J. Anderson [102]
Fitzpatrick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “It’s like a beehive.”
“And that’s only those of us actively working on new vessels. I haven’t even mentioned the second-tier support workers, food-prep personnel, inventory accountants, tradesmen and merchants, payroll staff.”
“Payroll?”
“Yes, Fitzie, we do get paid. We also have a cleaning staff, though we generally expect each person to do most of that work for themselves. You might want to mention that to your fellow Eddies. This isn’t a hotel, and they shouldn’t expect us to pick up after them. They’ve been piss-poor guests so far.”
“Then let us go.”
“After all you’ve seen? Fat chance.” She flew him through the ring, descending closer to the giant gas planet. “And none of what I’ve told you includes our cometary-extraction crews high up in the Kuiper Belt.”
“Nor does it count the thirty-two unlawful EDF prisoners you’ve kept.”
“Good point. They’re certainly a strain on our resources—or at least on our patience. We would appreciate it if you’d at least acknowledge what we rescued you from.” As if she had choreographed the conversation, Zhett cruised through a dense layer of rubble and reached another set of glittering objects reflecting the glow of the planet. “Look down there. That’s what was left of your big lumbering Eddie ships after the drogues finished with you.”
Fitzpatrick felt a lurch in his chest, panic washing over him again as he was reminded of the massacre. He remembered the screaming, the shouts…the utter helplessness.
He had been in the midst of the fray, watching squadron after squadron of Remora fighters obliterated like moths in a blowtorch. He had seen Manta cruisers, even gigantic Juggernauts, torn to pieces. The hydrogues had severely damaged his own cruiser. Fitzpatrick had issued evacuation orders, watching the alien warglobes converge on his Manta, their blue lightning weapons lancing out—
He’d barely gotten to a lifetube in time, ejecting just as his ship exploded behind him, spraying debris in all directions, damaging his signal beacon and ruining the life-support units. He had drifted, wounded, as unconsciousness slowly took him…until this demonic angel rescued him.
“Thank you,” he said in a very small voice.
Zhett looked startled but did not goad or tease him—not now.
Shudders ran down Fitzpatrick’s spine as he stared at these ghost ships that had been abandoned by the EDF battle group. The space graveyard both awed him and made him want to hide.
As he looked at the wreckage, it finally became clear to Fitzpatrick that he and the EDF refugees would have died out here. All of them. The battle group had raced away from the ringed planet in full retreat. Even now, months later, no scout had returned to look for any remaining lifetubes. Zhett Kellum and her Roamers had indeed saved Fitzpatrick’s life.
Damn, he hated to be beholden to her!
Perhaps sensing his mood, Zhett let compassion instead of sarcasm color her voice. He much preferred this tone to mocking insults. “I know what it’s like…in a way. My mother and little brother were both killed in a dome breach when I was only eight years old. We lived on an asteroid observation station, and Roamers had plotted the orbits of the main components in the belt, but it’s awfully hard to predict the paths of maverick meteoroids. The armorglass dome was smashed, broken wide open to space. All thirty people inside died of sudden explosive decompression. Almost half of the bodies were lost.”
“I’m…sorry, Zhett.”
“I was only eight, but I still remember the funeral. We wrapped each of the victims in a long embroidered shroud marked with our clan symbols. Then my father launched them up out of the ecliptic with enough velocity to escape the system’s pull. That way they’d drift forever, true Roamers carried along by the vagaries of gravity, following their own Guiding Stars.”
“Does that…sort of accident happen