Metal Swarm - Kevin J. Anderson [106]
But still nothing.
So, feeling helpless, Patrick was left to explore the huge Kellum facility, hoping he might bump into her. He stood out on the open balcony decks watching the slow-motion boiling of clouds. Hydrogues had once dwelled down there. Patrick shuddered and gripped the rail, fighting back dizziness as he remembered how the enemy warglobes had destroyed his own Manta and left him for dead…
Turning away from the too-open skies, he climbed down from one deck to another. Men and women with jetpacks and anti-grav belts floated outside the curved hull, adjusting fittings, monitoring the great pumps, dangling probes hundreds of kilometres long to take atmospheric-content samples in search of the perfect mixture of gases for creating stardrive fuel.
Next to the ekti reactors and condensing chambers, Patrick watched teams load cylinder after cylinder of ekti into the grasping spidery legs of a cargo escort. Every hour, another full escort was dispatched. He estimated that the total output of Golgen's skymines was more than the entire Hansa had produced during eight years of war and austerity.
A young, whip-thin pilot wearing a long red scarf climbed aboard the cargo escort and sealed the hatches, heading off to a transfer depot called Barrymore's Rock. Patrick had never heard of it. '-
A gruff voice behind him said, 'You still owe me a cargo escort, by damn.' Patrick turned to see Del Kellum looking at him with a hard expression. 'And if I wanted to be vindictive, I'd throw in a bill for all the damage your reprogrammed Soldier compies did to my shipyards. I'm not made of money, you know. Imagine how much work it took to rebuild and recover from all that.'
'I'll find a way to pay you back. I can get your cargo escort. I'm willing to help out here on the skymine. I'm sorry.'
'Aren't we all.' :
Patrick's mind filled with excuses and justifications, but he had not come here to have a debate. During his time alone aboard the Gypsy, he'd wondered if he had the strength to bear all of the blame. He had to. Maybe then Zhett would consider him worthy. 'I've got something to say, and apologies to make.'
The bearded man snorted. 'We've known that since the moment you set foot here. What makes you think we want to hear it? Zhett certainly doesn't.'
'You'll want to hear it. Trust me. What would it take for you to bring the skymine chiefs here?'
'Why should I want to?'
'Because I'm the one who twisted my grandmother's arm to let the Roamers go free when the EDF came to Osquivel. You could have all been taken prisoner, just like the Roamers on Hurricane Depot and Rendezvous.' He hadn't wanted to play that card, but he seemed to have no choice. 'Just let me talk to them.' His throat felt very dry. 'Please?'
The clan leader heaved a long-suffering sigh. 'I don't imagine you'll get a very good reception.'
Patrick averted his eyes. 'I don't either, especially after they hear what I have to say. But it's something I've got to do.'
* * * * *
The internal meeting chamber would have been dreary had it not been for the colourful hangings, iridescent tapestries, and splashes of pigment on the walls that looked as if hyperactive Roamer children had engaged in a finger-painting contest.
Now that he'd gotten up his nerve, Patrick wanted as many people to hear his confession as possible, though Zhett was the only one who really mattered to him. For the moment, however, this would be a private meeting. There wasn't even a green priest to disseminate the news, Del Kellum had found Liona to be too much of a distraction for the skyminers, so he had sent the female green priest to the Osquivel shipyards, where she