Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [75]
Fitzpatrick gestured toward the big airlock at the far end of the chamber where Kellum had summoned them. “Be my guest, Shelia. See how far you can run out there in empty space. Maybe you’ll succeed where Bill Stanna failed.”
She spun on him angrily. “That’s not—”
“Yes it is! We’ll never get out of here by being stupid. We have to play along, make our plans, and do this right.”
The weapons specialist smoldered at him for a moment, but she did not disagree. “I’m just so sick of waiting.”
A side door opened and Del Kellum entered with his beautiful raven-haired daughter. The shipyard manager wore a stern expression; his salt-and-pepper goatee looked shaggier than usual. Zhett, on the other hand, was as vivacious and full of energy as ever, though she wouldn’t meet Fitzpatrick’s eyes.
Kellum didn’t need a voice amplification system. His words boomed out without preamble. “Your Earth Defense Forces have declared war on the Roamer people. First, they attacked a Roamer outpost known as Hurricane Depot. Next, they destroyed our center of government and scattered the clans, including our Speaker.” He glowered at them, letting the news sink in. The EDF captives muttered uneasily, not knowing how much to believe. Fitzpatrick was shocked.
“Roacher propaganda,” Andez muttered.
“I don’t see why they’d make up a story like that if it wasn’t true,” Fitzpatrick said. “What would they have to gain?”
Yamane said, “It would explain the recent activity.”
Kellum paced before his audience, barely controlling his outrage. “What does it take to get through to you people? We rescued you from the wreckage. We fed and sheltered you while we tried to find a way to return you to your homes. Now the Hansa’s actions force us to change your status from unwanted guests to prisoners of war.” He crossed beefy arms over his barrel chest.
Zhett stood beside him. “Since you’ll all be with us for a while, things are going to change around here. We have divided you into work teams, assigned to separate stations out in the rings, three or four of you at a time. We have also programmed and distributed EDF Soldier compies in similar assignments. We’ve run out of bonbons for you to eat while you sit back and relax. Time to earn your keep.”
Kellum nodded. “No more excuses. No more complaints. No more refusing to cooperate.”
Immediately the prisoners began to shout. “We’re not your slaves!”
“When the EDF hears about Roamer death camps, they’ll wipe you out, clan by clan.”
“You can’t treat prisoners of war that way.”
“Oh, you poor pampered babies.” Zhett pursed her catlike lips, her expression halfway between amusement and anger. “Never had to do real work in your lives? If you get a broken fingernail, will you file for an EDF Wounded-in-Action medal?”
Kellum growled, “You’ll work shifts that are no longer and no more hazardous than any Roamer does on a daily basis. Your work will be monitored. Any attempted sabotage or decreased productivity will be countered with a reduction in rations or privileges.”
Zhett watched their expressions and said, “Think of it as a chance to get outside and stretch your legs. Even you, Fitzie.” He flushed at being singled out. “Once you try a bit of rewarding menial labor, you might decide you like it. See how the rest of the population lives.”
Andez clenched her fists, ready to lunge at the nearest Roamer, but Fitzpatrick touched her arm. “Leave it for now.”
“Are you just gonna let her say things like that?”
“Give it time. We’ll figure out something.” Fitzpatrick never took his eyes from Zhett. Thanks to his spoiled upbringing under his grandmother Maureen Fitzpatrick, a year ago he couldn’t have imagined doing common labor; at the moment, though, the prospect didn’t sound so terrible.
Two years before the start of the hydrogue war, Fitzpatrick had discovered a keen interest in old-fashioned automobiles. Using part of his bloated trust fund, he had purchased several collectors’ vehicles. He loved