Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [250]
Maureen tried unsuccessfully to cover her surprise. “That’s nothing new, Patrick. We already have several fragments of destroyed warglobes from the attack on Theroc.” Before he could ask questions, his grandmother’s shoulders sagged. “But I won’t kid you. Those pieces of wreckage were useless.”
“This one isn’t, Grandmother. It’s the Rosetta stone, the goose that lays the golden eggs, whichever silly metaphor you want me to use.”
“What’s to stop us from searching the rings until we find it ourselves?”
“Same problem as before. You can have it immediately, or waste months. But in order to get it, you’re going to have to let the Roamers go.” He crossed his arms over his embroidered work shirt. “That’s my final offer. Just take it, and we can be done with this right now.”
Her voice was small and genuinely concerned. “Why are you doing this?”
He thought for a long time before he answered. “Maybe I’d like to be a real hero for once instead of a manufactured one.”
In his heart he knew that neither the EDF nor the Roamers would ever see him that way. He had stabbed them both in the back. Though he’d been under orders, he had destroyed Raven Kamarov’s ship, which had triggered the whole mess between the Hansa and the clans.
Fitzpatrick believed wholeheartedly that he was doing the right thing now, seizing the best advantage for both parties, but he doubted General Lanyan, or most particularly Zhett Kellum, would ever let him forget what he had done. Forgiveness, he supposed, was out of the question.
Naturally the Roamers were suspicious of the offer, but they had little choice. Most of the rampant Soldier compies had been destroyed or deactivated, but their primary shipyard facilities had been ruined by the sabotage. Del Kellum claimed that seven of his people had died in the debacle, but all the EDF prisoners had been kept safe, suffering only minimal injuries.
Maureen Fitzpatrick’s old Manta and its accompanying diplomatic craft made no further threats against the clans. It was an uneasy standoff, but the shipyard workers gradually began to believe the Eddies would not attack them—at least not right away.
Fitzpatrick, having changed out of Roamer work clothes and into a salvaged EDF uniform, stood on the bridge beside his grandmother.
Below, in the broken rings, Roamer vessels packed up and dispersed like frightened mice to any bolt-hole, nook, or cranny. Fitzpatrick had not told his grandmother about the cometary extraction workyards high up in the fringes of the system. As soon as the EDF fleet departed, larger, faster clan vessels would come down and take the Roamers out of the Osquivel system—including Zhett.
She would probably never speak to him again.
The thirty EDF prisoners were taken to an undisclosed location, where they would wait in safety until the Roamers were convinced Maureen Fitzpatrick did not intend to double-cross them. His grandmother had been angered by the terms of the settlement, but even she had to admit it was the best option.
“All right, Patrick—you’ve had your way.” She stared out at the majestic rings and the giant planet. “Now show us this hydrogue derelict. It better be worth so much trouble, that’s all I can say.”
“Oh, it is, Grandmother.”
The big cruiser moved away from the main shipyards, circling around the rings and climbing out of the plane to the isolated spot where Kotto Okiah had left the alien vessel. The sphere hung like a tiny star sparkling in the reflected light from the gas giant.
Maureen dispatched a Remora squadron with crews outfitted in commando suits to take possession of the empty derelict. Noting the triumphant expression on his grandmother’s face, Fitzpatrick said, “See? We’ll still receive plenty of applause when we get home to Earth.”
Del Kellum transmitted the coordinates of the location to which the EDF prisoners had been taken. After bringing the diamond-hulled derelict into his cargo bay, the Manta captain