Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [8]
Air geysered into space with the force of a rocket engine, sufficient to nudge the greenhouse asteroid off its rotational axis. Thrown to their hands and knees, agricultural workers cried out in dismay.
Caught in the vortex of escaping atmosphere, the aerogel clouds spun, clumped together, and then covered the blasted opening. The polymers and resins that made up the ultralight material broke down upon exposure to vacuum; like gauze packed into a wound, the artificial clouds filled the rupture, providing enough protection for the people to survive. The seal was imperfect, though, and leaking air shrieked through gaps in the aerogel plug.
Crim saw many of his plants already withering, the pots tumbled about as if a giant hand had scattered them. His angry curses were drowned out by loud alarms in the thinning air.
Marla pushed Nikko urgently away. “Run to your ship. Don’t wait for anybody. Just fly out of here and take the wentals. Take the wentals!”
“I can’t just leave you here! Come with me—”
“We need to stay with our people.” Marla gestured to the Roamers around them. “But you’re too important.”
“Then let me gather a group. I can fit maybe a dozen or so aboard—”
“You’ve got a responsibility.” His father cut him off as shadows of more EDF ships closed in overhead. “Seems to me that if you lose even a minute, you’ll never get out of here.”
Marla met her son’s flustered expression. “Don’t worry, the Eddies have to take us somewhere. At least we’ll find out what happened to all the POWs from Rendezvous and Hurricane Depot.”
When Nikko still hesitated, his father bellowed, “Go now, Nikko—and don’t let us down.”
In the low gravity, flashing lights, and shrieking wind, Nikko ran.
Chapter 3—KING PETER
Despite the newsnet footage of the “triumphant destruction” of Rendezvous and the gala celebration of the EDF victory, King Peter did not see much cause for joy. General Lanyan was beating his chest, proclaiming a clean and decisive win, but it was in a battle that had never needed to be fought. Peter knew that from the inside, but no one in the Hansa government had listened to his objections. After all, he was only the King.
Riled up, the Hansa citizens had been primed by months of skewed coverage, reports, and rumors that painted the Roamers as shifty, unreliable, greedy. No reason had been given for the clans’ refusal to provide stardrive fuel to the war effort, though Peter knew that the Roamers were reacting to secret EDF raids on their unarmed cargo ships. Certainly, that was sufficient provocation for the Roamers to cut off trade relations, but Chairman Basil Wenceslas had never admitted any culpability, even unofficially. Instead, he used the Roamers as scapegoats to distract the people from other military failures. That was how the Chairman did things.
Peter felt it would have been easier to address the problems and attempt to negotiate instead of bully. Basil could have resolved the Roamer problem in a much less incendiary fashion; now, however, he would never back down. The Chairman had become more dictatorial and strident with each passing month.
How is this going to end, Basil? You’ve showed your muscle—but did you leave an option for resolution? And is this really the worst problem facing us?
What about the numerous fringe colonies, not yet self-sufficient, left stranded without regular supply runs? What about the devastated world-forest on Theroc? What about Peter’s suspicions of embedded Klikiss programming in tens of thousands of Soldier compies? Basil was intentionally turning a blind eye to the possible threat. What about the hydrogues?
Wearing a false smile, Peter and Queen Estarra appeared at the celebratory banquet, as was their duty. The blond-haired, blue-eyed, and classically handsome King had been instructed to read a brief script full of vague references about “standing up against the enemies of humanity.”
A dash of dusky and exotic beauty