Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [248]
Maureen stood firm, her expression icy; Fitzpatrick could see where she’d gotten the nickname of Dame Battleaxe. “You have grossly misinterpreted the situation, Mr. Kellum. We did not come here on a rescue mission. Your personnel have been declared outlaws and your property is subject to immediate seizure. We will detain your people and take them to a Hansa holding facility.”
“The hell you will. Why don’t you change the Eddy motto to 'Too little, too late'? Or how about 'Always ready to shoot at the wrong target—and still miss'?” Staring at them on the screen, Kellum saw Fitzpatrick step onto the bridge even before his grandmother noticed him. “By damn, I see you’ve got one of your survivors back. I don’t suppose you could arrange to return the cargo escort that he stole from us?”
Maureen’s eyes lit up with delight. “Patrick!” He had never seen so much genuine joy on the old woman’s face; it made him wonder if she truly cared for him after all. Why had she never bothered to show it during the rest of his life?
She barked over her shoulder to the Manta captain, “Continue to deal with this.” The old woman opened her arms to him and several of the other parents and family members gathered around, full of questions.
Fitzpatrick stiffly pushed everyone away. “Not now. Grandmother, I have to talk with you. Immediately.”
“Yes, Patrick. We’ve got a lot to catch up on. I—”
“Now. In there, with the door shut.” He gestured toward the captain’s private conference room just off the bridge. When he’d commanded his own similar cruiser, Fitzpatrick had used the chamber for meetings with his officers. “I need to give you some intelligence and tactical information before you let the situation get any more out of hand.”
Maureen reacted with surprise at the way her grandson spoke to her, but she had been a hard businesswoman all her life, and she knew well enough not to make irrevocable decisions until she had all the information. Patrick might give her an advantage with what he had learned during his time among the Roamer clans.
With the door sealed behind them, they sat facing each other across the captain’s small table. He felt embarrassed to be wearing absurd-looking Roamer work clothes. Eventually he was sure he’d be the subject of much media scrutiny, pestered by interviews. Now, though, he had the Battleaxe alone. He rested his elbows on the table and prepared to drive a tough bargain with his grandmother. “First, as a starting and ending point, you’re going to let the Roamers go. All of them.”
She looked at him as if he had gone insane. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve got them now.”
“You don’t have everything, Grandmother. They’ve still got thirty healthy EDF prisoners there, and I made a promise I’d do everything possible to get them rescued.”
“Fine, Patrick. We’ve already made that a condition of Roamer surrender.”
“And how do you propose to enforce that? Do you have any idea how many Roamers and facilities are dispersed in those rings? You’ll be in for quite a surprise if you try to go head-to-head with them. They’ll separate the captives and scatter them throughout the rings. It’s needles and haystacks.”
“We’ll hunt them down. We have adequate sensors.”
He shook his head. “They have thousands of small depots and storerooms and buried chambers among hundreds of thousands of rocks in the rings. You’ll be rooting around for years.”
Maureen looked at him, her stare as sharp as a dissection tool. “What did they do to you, Patrick? They must have tortured you, brainwashed you. Did that man Kellum put you up to this?”
Fitzpatrick actually laughed. “Oh, trust me,