Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [76]
But young Fitzpatrick’s greasy tinkering had raised concerns. One night, when he was late for a banquet and rushed in with insufficiently clean fingernails, his grandmother had put a stop to his hobby. Without his knowledge, Dame Battleaxe sold every one of Fitzpatrick’s cars at a charity auction. She had never allowed him to purchase another classic automobile.
As he looked at his fellow captives, Fitzpatrick knew that every one of them wanted to go back to their lives in the Hansa. Though he would never admit it to any of his comrades, he had come to the conclusion that it was refreshing to be without specific obligations and constant demands.
Back on Earth, and in the EDF, he’d been a blueblood, always watched by his grandmother and smothered by her expectations. Now that everyone back home thought he was dead, for the first time Fitzpatrick had the luxury of mulling over things he wanted to do. It was intimidating, confusing, and liberating in a way. Now, though he resented being held captive, he was willing to work on something with his hands. Maybe he could request a job that let him work with engines and power systems...
On a wall screen, Kellum projected a rough map of the rings, on which were marked the major clusters of facilities. Zhett began to read out names and tasks. “These are your preliminary assignments. Spare-parts hangars need inventory work. Nonskilled maintenance can be done around the spacedocks and ship-fabrication grids. Simple work is available in the office complexes and habitation domes, chores as menial as janitorial or housekeeping.”
“Roamer death camps,” Andez said under her breath.
Zhett looked directly at Fitzpatrick, as if her gaze could slice away the walls he had built up around himself. “If anybody has a particular aptitude or specialty, we might consider shifting you to a different team.”
Fitzpatrick might have had a privileged upbringing, but his family had heaped a heavy load of expectations on him. In a way, this might be an opportunity to pursue the things he really wanted, as soon as he figured out what they were.
Kellum demanded their attention again as he projected schematics of the various vehicles found around the shipyards. “I want you all to take a look at this very carefully. After your comrade’s botched attempt to get away, I know you’re all thinking about escape. Your friend set off with insufficient fuel, food, and life support. He didn’t even know where he was going—and he paid with his life for such foolishness.”
Ignoring the angry mutters from the EDF captives, he tapped the projected diagrams of ships. “Let there be no doubt in your minds. These are the ships working our construction yards: ore-haulers, processors, grappler pods, cargo carriers, zero-G momentum lifters.” He scrolled through one picture after another. “Look at them.” When he had finished, he waited for a few seconds. “Now, does anyone see a common factor among all those vessels?” He waited again. “You really should pay close attention.”
Finally, Fitzpatrick said in a defeated voice, “They’re all short-range vehicles. Not one of them can get us out of this system.”
“Good job, Fitzie!” Zhett smiled, and he wished he’d never said anything. At least she wasn’t ignoring him anymore.
“None of the vessels here is equipped with an Ildiran stardrive. Even if you manage to hijack a ship, you won’t be able to get anywhere. You can putter along for centuries before you ever reach a habitable planet.”
Zhett added, “We just want you to realize that so you don’t get any ideas of trying to grab a craft and escape. Not that I can understand why you would want to go away.” She looked directly at Fitzpatrick as she said it.
As the work assignments were distributed, a hundred Soldier compies also marched into the gathering area. The military robots had been found