Horizon Storms - Kevin J. Anderson [104]
“Like Roamers, you mean?” Zhett asked with a defensive undertone.
“Oh, no! My grandmother would have been horrified if she had ever caught me with a Roamer. I participated in environmental cleanups, visited down-and-out families. I handed out clothes or soup, assisted in restoring polluted marshlands or decaying seaside communities. I could see the worth of the work, but I hated it each time, and my family’s reasons for making me do it were no more altruistic than mine.”
“It was helping other people, Fitzie. Couldn’t you appreciate that for its own sake? Didn’t it make you feel good?”
“I never managed to see it that way…at least not at the time. What I learned was how to smile whenever a camera was pointed toward me, because if I made a media blunder I would catch hell from my grandmother.”
Zhett shook her head, flying them onward. “Ah, Patrick Fitzpatrick the Third, your Guiding Star is no brighter than a strap-on fingerlight.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Some Roamer religious nonsense?”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t be accusing other people of nonsense. Didn’t you ever have any close friends, any pets?”
“Not really. It wasn’t part of the program. My life was completely mapped out for me, and that didn’t leave much room for spontaneity.”
Now Zhett gave him a warm smile. “Aha! And that must have hampered your understanding of how people interact. That’s why a cooperative life among the Roamers is such a shock to you. It’s an alien environment. Your life on Earth was always so sheltered and so set. You never had to strive for anything. That’s why you can’t take pride in anybody else’s accomplishments.”
He scowled and turned away. “There’s the familiar Zhett Kellum again. I was beginning to worry, since it must have been fifteen minutes since the last time you criticized me.”
“Touché,” she said, then, “I’m sorry.”
He sat in silence, thinking. “It never occurred to me that other people—like you Roamers—might live differently because you want to. That you might actually be happy with what you have. I assumed your lower-class living was the result of your own failures rather than…conscious choice. Always I divided everyone into two camps: the rich and the needy. I was glad to be among the rich, and convinced that the needy wanted everything I had.”
“Excuse me, Fitzie, but I wouldn’t trade lives with you for all the credits in the Hansa corporate bank accounts.” Refusing to meet his gaze, Zhett reached over to touch his arm with a glimmer of compassion. When she realized what she was doing, she snatched her hand away as if the contact with him might burn her fingers. “Maybe you just need a fresh start to do something useful instead of being a spoiled rich kid.”
She piloted the grappler pod back into the docking bay of the converted asteroid’s vehicle pool. As they climbed out and stretched their legs, Fitzpatrick turned to see barrel-chested Del Kellum emerging from the hatch that led to the administrative offices. “There you are, my sweet!” He looked askance at Fitzpatrick. “I hope you had a good time—and that he didn’t try anything.”
“You worry too much, Dad. I had him wrapped around my little finger.” Fitzpatrick gave her an affronted look.
“I’ve brought news from Rendezvous. The Roamers decided unanimously to cut off ekti shipments to the Big Goose. We’ve shut down all trade whatsoever.”
“No more ekti shipments?” Fitzpatrick cried. “We need that fuel! While you Roamers hide, the EDF is fighting this war against the drogues, protecting your little jackrabbit asses.”
“Protecting us?” Kellum let out a bitter laugh. “By damn, you Eddies have a strange way of showing it, by raiding and destroying Roamer cargo ships. We recently recovered the wreckage of one flown by a good friend of mine, Raven Kamarov. Emptied of its ekti cargo and then blasted to pieces by EDF jazers. Don’t go giving me any bullshit about you boys ‘protecting’ us.”
Zhett turned to him. “The Big Goose can’t make any excuses for what