Horizon Storms by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

ships of all sizes and designs were constructed. Clan Kellum had smelters, fabricators, assembly lines, a whole infrastructure—over a thousand people living and working here.
    When the EDF battle group had come to attack the hydrogues, no one had seen any signs of such a complex hidden in the rings. These Roachers were slippery, deceitful, and devious; a cancer quietly growing between the stars.
    The asteroid’s rectangular airlock disengaged with a coughing hiss, then rattled aside. While Stanna struggled to his feet, as if caught sleeping on duty, Fitzpatrick and Andez pointedly remained sitting on the floor.
    “You don’t need to pretend you were working, Bill,” Fitzpatrick said. “I want them to know I’m not lifting a finger to help.”
    A slender young woman with long black hair stepped inside with a grace that showed she was accustomed to living in low gravity. Zhett Kellum, whom they had all met before, had huge green eyes that could sparkle with either mirth or displeasure. Fitzpatrick had seen her quirk her full lips upward in a combination of annoyed disappointment and mischievous humor. “I don’t know how this sort of thing works among the Eddies, but in Roamer clans, we generally chip in and work for our dinner. Don’t expect a free ride month after month.”
    “In the Hansa,” Fitzpatrick replied acidly, “our families generally don’t take hostages and prevent them from going home.”

P A T R I C K F I T Z P A T R I C K I I I
41
    Andez added, “Hey, if you don’t like the quality of our work, then feel free to fire us and we’ll be on our way.”
    Arching her eyebrows, Zhett gestured toward the large sealed door. Her body seemed as flexible as spring steel. “There’s the airlock. You can walk out anytime you like . . . but it’s a fairly long hike.”
    “Couldn’t you at least give us a spaceship?” Stanna said.
    Fitzpatrick jabbed him with his elbow. “She wasn’t serious, Bill.”
    Zhett approached the four EDF captives. “I wouldn’t make assumptions like that if I were you, Fitzie.”
    “Don’t call me that.”
    “Oh, it’s just a pet name.” She smiled at him, and he gritted his teeth.
    “I wasn’t kidding about expecting you to pitch in. My father thinks you’re more trouble than you’re worth . . . and I’m starting to agree with him.”
    “You expect us just to be complacent and cooperative?” Yamane said.
    “We are being held here against our will.”
    “We also saved all of your lives.” Zhett tossed her hair, which drifted slowly in the low gravity as if under water. Fitzpatrick couldn’t help noticing that her Roamer jumpsuit was well fitted to show her long, slender legs.
    “Considering that all your Eddy friends turned tail and ran, leaving you to the drogues, I can’t see why you’re so anxious to go back. You’d all be better off if you just got used to living among the Roamers.”
    All four of the hostages responded with an angry outburst. “Never!”
    Zhett just sighed and shook her head. “That’s the trouble with you Eddies. You seem incapable of learning to roll with the changes. Believe me, if we could think of a way to get you back to the Big Goose without giving away our trade secrets, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
    “That would be just about fast enough for me,” Fitzpatrick said with a scowl.
    Zhett instructed some compies to finish stacking the crates, and pitched in herself, while the prisoners sat idly watching. The Roamer girl ignored them, apparently immune to their surly stares and happy to prove her superiority. Fitzpatrick tried not to let it get to him.

    42

H O R I Z O N S T O R M S
135CESCA PERONI
    The old woman drifted in a sling chair connected to the rock wall. The former Speaker looked like a collection of dried bones held together with sinew, leathery skin, and sheer force of will. She’d been retired for six years and had not left the Rendezvous asteroids in all that time; her eyes were still bright as black