Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [129]
Fitzpatrick felt caught between two impossible situations. He didn’t like the idea of unrestrained Soldier compies running amok in the shipyards. What if Zhett was caught in a crossfire? He didn’t want her to get hurt. Besides, he had a grudging respect for everything that the Roamers had accomplished, and it would be a shame to let it be ruined.
On the other hand, escape was imperative. He owed it to his comrades.
Though dumbfounded by the plan, Fitzpatrick could see no holes in it. Ekti cargo escorts were clunky, graceless ships, but they did have stardrives. “I’ll grant you, the Roamers wouldn’t expect it. But that would leave the rest of our people behind. What good does it do the other thirty if only one of us escapes?”
“We only need one,” said Yamane. “Whoever gets away calls in the EDF cavalry.”
“And we’ll hold down the fort in the meantime.” Andez leaned closer, speaking quickly as she saw the Roamer supervisor coming toward them. “It’s got to be you, Fitzpatrick. You’re our best pilot. Hijack the cargo escort and get out of here so you can rescue us all.”
“Yes,” he said, feeling no real elation. “I suppose it would have to be me.”
Chapter 62—MAUREEN FITZPATRICK
Her offices on Earth weren’t nearly as spacious as the ones she’d inhabited when she was Hansa Chairman, years ago, but Maureen Fitzpatrick made do. Though she’d been retired for almost half a century, she never slowed down.
In the decades since surrendering her post, Maureen had worked out of her splendid house deep in the Rocky Mountains, surrounded by beautiful peaks, high meadows, and accessible ski areas. From her personal shuttlepad, she could climb into a vehicle and fly to any other place on Earth if she needed to attend a meeting.
Today, she used her private fleet and well-paid pilots to bring the other attendees to her, while she sat back and waited for it all to happen. This meeting had to be on her own turf.
Maureen looked at least three decades younger than her actual age, mainly due to anti-aging treatments—certainly not because of gentle living and a stress-free life. The former Chairman had always felt more comfortable in an office than at home; thus she’d converted her large estate into both. She kept ever-changing teams of consultants and experts around her in a “think tank” environment. Sometimes Hansa officials hired her for advice; at other times she directed underlings to pursue matters that she was interested in. Occasionally, Maureen would take the initiative to ramrod a proposal through the government complexities that she knew so well.
For today, she had the servants set out a long table of refreshments: exotic fruits, delicate pastries, and a wide array of beverages. After much consideration, Maureen decided to hold this gathering on the comfortable, sunny veranda. The skies were a perfect Colorado blue, and the late spring was unseasonably warm. It boded well for one of her personal passions. The other grieving parents and family members would not react well to a cold and formal business presentation in a boardroom.
She heard shuttles landing and knew that the pilots had coordinated their approach paths so that all the guests would arrive at the same time. Maureen had no wish to deal with awkward social conversations while waiting for guests to trickle in. Few of them had any inkling as to why she had called them, but when a former Hansa Chairman sent an invitation, no one dared to decline.
She poured herself a snifter of fine cognac and sipped it languorously. She drank only occasionally and chose the rare brandy because it was expensive and impressive, not because it suited her tastes. Maureen Fitzpatrick could never allow herself to be seen drinking anything so gauche or trendy as one of the new fruity vitamin beverages.
The doorman and her social secretary had arranged for the guests to gather in the foyer, where they could talk with each other until they were all ready to come