Metal Swarm - Kevin J. Anderson [59]
Patrick turned to an older man next to him. 'What's the statue for?'
'A memorial to Raven Kamarov. You know who he is, right? The Roamers are calling him the first victim in their war.'
Patrick swallowed. 'Their war?'
'Well, Kamarov certainly didn't die fighting the drogues. It was the stupid Eddies and the power-mad Hansa. They hammered this colony, too.'
Patrick always did seem to be in the wrong place. Uncomfortable with the conversation, he went his own way. No longer interested in politics, he focused on finding Zhett. He wasn't completely sure whether he needed to search her out for selfish reasons, or for his own honour. But he was fixated on the idea of apologizing, coming clean, atoning somehow for his actions. The Roamers had been treated unfairly for years, and he'd had no small part in that.
He entered a local drinking house named unimaginatively The Saloon' as a reminder to ancient Earth frontier days. The proprietors, one Roamer and one local colonist according to the signboard, brewed their own beer using surplus Yrekan grains with hops extracts that the Roamer partner obtained from an undisclosed source.
At the bar, Patrick ordered a pint and tried to look appreciative as he sipped the bitter, watery brew. Customers sat at metal tables or along the bar, engaged in enthusiastic conversation and boisterous disagreements. Patrick swept his gaze around, looking for a friendly face. His grandmother and parents would never Live approved of such a 'common' place. Patrick had usually been introduced to new people in formal, social situations, where everyone knew who he was from the outset. And in the EDF, there had always been common ground for starting discussions. He didn't even know how to walk up to a total stranger and initiate a conversation.
He kept an open expression on his face, hoping someone would respond. Two men at the bar were sketching schemes on an old dataplate. 'No, look. You just take some nets made of high tension fibre, corral the drifting rocks, then use momentum transfer--either portable engines or small explosions - to knock them back into position.'
That would be like reassembling a jigsaw puzzle with your eyes closed!'
'And is that beyond you? Just bring the asteroids together, salvage what you can, put new girders in place. Inflate fresh domes, bring in supplies and equipment. Six months, we'd have Rendezvous back in business.'
Patrick blinked at the sheer audacity of the idea. Reassemble Rendezvous? It was inconceivable, yet he didn't doubt their ability to do it.
'We've got plenty of commercial opportunities to focus on instead. What's the point of that?'
'The point is to show the Eddy bastards that they didn't win! I don't feel like just letting them get away with it. A symbolic gesture. I heard Del Kellum's already got a team looking into the feasibility.'
'If anybody's got the credits to burn, clan Kellum does.'
Patrick perked up. 'Excuse me, but I… I used to work in the Kellum shipyards.'
The two men looked at him without antagonism. 'You don't look like a Roamer. What's your clan?'
'Clan Fitzpatrick.'
'Never heard of it.'
He ignored the comment. 'Does either of you know where I can find clan Kellum? I heard they packed up and left Osquivel.'
'Oh, those shipyards are up and running again. Kellum's not scared of the Eddies.'
'What's left of the Eddies, you mean.' The second man snorted derisively. 'Kellum appointed somebody else to manage them. He's not there himself.'
'Do you know where he went?'
'I thought you said you worked in the shipyards.'
'I worked for Del Kellum,' Patrick said with all the bluster he could manage. 'If Del wants to send me back to Osquivel, then I'll go there. But if he's got other work for me, then I'll listen, by damn.' He intentionally used the clan leader's favourite phrase.
The two men chuckled. 'Sounds like Del, all right.'
The first man blanked his scribbles on the datapad and took a long drink of his beer. 'Del and his daughter went back to skymining. They set up the first of the