Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [127]
“I don’t like rehearsed speeches. Just tell me what you’re thinking, by damn. Did you find something in the derelict?”
Kotto glanced at the two compies for imagined encouragement, then turned back to the clan head. “How about a straightforward way to open up a drogue warglobe? Simple and cheap.”
“Those are two words I don’t often hear around here.” Kellum led him over to a station with a small table, where he shooed the technician away so they could use the space. “Show me.”
Kotto laid out his drawings and explained how he had inadvertently stumbled upon a solution with the small hydrogue vessel, and how he expected to extend the same principle to the big warglobes using small membranes that could vibrate at a precise resonance frequency.
The clan leader scratched his graying beard, absorbing the sketches and calculations. “I usually can’t understand a thing you’re talking about, Kotto—but this...this is so simple it’s ridiculous.”
“I agree it’s uncomplicated. All the more reason it should be completely effective. I’m going to call it a 'doorbell.' Can your facilities make them here?”
The clan leader gave a scowl. “Don’t insult my workers, Kotto. Even those clumsy Eddy prisoners could make something as straightforward as this. In fact, maybe I’ll put them on it. They can’t complain about making weapons to fight the drogues.”
Kotto beamed. “We should get on it right away, since there’s no telling when we might need to use them. I’d like to start disseminating them to anyone who might need help against the drogues. Could we pass the word to the Hansa, so they—”
Del Kellum’s scowl deepened. “Just like that? After what the Eddies did to Rendezvous and all those other Roamer facilities? We hand over the solution and expect them to embrace us?”
“I...uh, I thought it would save lives. And it’s not as if they can use the technology against us in any way.”
“Let’s save Roamer lives. Forget about the Big Goose.” Kellum’s shoulders sagged. “I suppose Zhett would yell at me for that decision. All right, let me reconsider. But I do want to arm the clans first. We’ve got to set our priorities, by damn.”
“What about the Therons? They’re our friends, aren’t they? Realistically, they’re the most likely target for a renewed drogue attack. In fact, I’m surprised warglobes haven’t come back already. We might not have a lot of time.”
The clan leader paced around the station, then lashed out at his eavesdropping technicians. “What are you all looking at? Do I need to find other duties for you?” The workers scurried back to their stations.
The administrator turned back to Kotto. “Yes, I suppose we should get your—did you call them doorbells?—we should get them to Theroc as soon as possible. We all know they’re the most vulnerable, and the drogues seem to have quite a vendetta against them.”
“My system will be easy enough for the Therons to use,” Kotto said brightly. “I could take the first batch of my doorbells there in a day or two.”
“If we get cracking,” Del Kellum said.
Kotto smiled at GU and KR as if expecting the two compies to celebrate with him.
“Don’t just stand there grinning like an idiot,” the clan leader said, nudging him to get moving. “Leave that old derelict where it is for the time being. It’ll keep. Manufacture your first batch of doorbells and go deliver them to Theroc.”
Chapter 61—PATRICK FITZPATRICK III
The Roamers put in long shifts. Fitzpatrick’s hands were dirty, his muscles sore. Even burly Bill Stanna would have complained about the work. But Stanna was dead.
The POWs now grudgingly spent their days doing assigned tasks, side by side with reprogrammed Soldier compies. Del Kellum assumed the EDF captives had learned their lesson, but the crackdown had only forced them to look more carefully for alternatives, and to make better plans.
Fitzpatrick was uneasy about what his comrades might do.
He and his small group of companions were assigned