The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [131]
“These are dangerous and uncertain times, Mr. Gold. Who can guarantee anyone’s safety?”
Sullivan leaned close to the other man. “You can, Chairman Wenceslas.”
The other man smiled at the comment. “So I always believed, but recently I’ve had to take measures that I don’t particularly like. I comfort myself with the knowledge that in the long run, history will see the wisdom in what I’ve done.”
“I would see more of your wisdom if you released my family,” Sullivan countered. “They have caused no harm and certainly meant none.”
Basil tapped his fingers, aligning the fingerprints with other smudges on the polished projection surface of his desk. “The EDF base on the Moon would be a safe place to keep your family. Don’t you agree? We can provide them secure housing on the base. Commandant Tilton will be a proper host. So long as your cooperation and performance at Golgen are acceptable, your loved ones will remain entirely unharmed.”
Sullivan felt cold drops of sweat on his back. He couldn’t believe Wenceslas was so blatant about holding hostages. The carefully honed edge of the man’s political skill had been dulled by wielding his power with a heavy hand. “I suppose that’s the best I can hope for, Mr. Chairman.”
“Good. The Roamer skyminers on Golgen should be ripe for the picking. I’ll assign an EDF squadron to help you assert your new authority.”
Sullivan had little bargaining power, but he pushed as hard as he could. “Then please arrange for my family’s transfer as soon as possible. Get them out of prison, or wherever you’ve kept them, and I will see them safely settled on the Moon — just to say goodbye and to comfort them. You understand.”
Chairman Wenceslas apparently didn’t understand, but he did not argue.
Sullivan pressed the matter as far as he dared. “Once I see them in place and I know exactly where they’ll be, then I’ll do as you say.”
The Chairman called up papers on his screen. Apparently, he had already drafted the order. “Of course you will.”
* * *
91
Patrick Fitzpatrick III
Leaving Theroc after his grandmother’s murder, Patrick and Zhett returned to the main skymine at Golgen, but his anger and shock did not diminish.
Maureen Fitzpatrick had never been a particularly warm person, but she had raised him to be strong. Patrick respected her, and now he began to realize how much he owed her . . . and how much he hated Chairman Wenceslas.
He and Zhett sat together in their bright and airy quarters aboard the skymine. The ever-resilient Roamers had gotten their ekti-processing operations back on track. With work shifts continuing around the clock, stardrive-fuel production was beginning to make up for what the EDF had stolen. Patrick doubted the General would be stupid enough to come back again so soon; on the other hand, he couldn’t fathom anything the Earth military did anymore. Del Kellum vowed that he would rather jettison full canisters into the clouds than let the Eddy bastards have them.
King Peter had promised to send at least one of Admiral Willis’s cruisers to Golgen for protection once they returned from Pym. However, Roamer skymines were now in place on dozens of gas giants, and the Confederation’s fledgling military simply didn’t have enough ships to patrol them all.
Patrick drew a deep breath. His voice hitched. “That should have been the most important act in her lifelong career. My grandmother could have changed things for the better — and she died for it.”
Zhett’s eyes blazed. “We’ve got to do something about that, Fitzie.”
“Damn right we do.” He slipped his arm around her. He had felt tangled in skeins of emotions — outrage, disbelief, a need for revenge, and horror at what the Hansa had been willing to do. He finally clarified his scrambled thoughts by trying to imagine what the old Battleaxe would have done. Then he knew.
He