OK kept a complete inventory list. The two traders posted their items, and let the skymine workers dicker over them. After Zhett negotiated a rate for the ekti, skyminers loaded the Verne, and Xander and Terry were ready to depart.
“Won’t you stay for a meal?” Zhett asked. “Fitz would like to see you two.”
“Sorry—places to go, planets to see,” Xander said. “Too many other spots to check off on the life list.”
Even a skymine administrator had to fit some time into the schedule to be a mother. Patrick shouldered a lot of the parenting duties while Zhett ran the huge cloud harvester, and then they alternated shifts. She met him on the skydeck, a large open balcony platform where breezes gusted through the faint filtering field.
Their son Toff was bouncing a ball against the wall and catching it. If the ball bounced wrong, it would carom off the edge of the observation deck and plunge into the infinite sky, but he caught it every time. Toff had deep red hair, which was genetically unexpected, considering both Zhett and Patrick had dark hair. The thirteen-year-old was blowing off steam, having finished his homework (under duress).
Patrick propped their two-year-old, Rex, against his waist, even though the toddler squirmed and wanted to play with his brother. “I think our Kristof is ready to go back to Academ,” he said in a teasing tone.
Toff reacted to his father’s suggestion with horror and almost missed catching his ball. “I still have two months off before I go back to school.”
Zhett turned to her husband and said in a mock serious tone, “Hmm, do you think he’d do better studying on Earth, like Shareen?”
“But Shareen hates it there!” Toff cried.
“You’ve both got it good,” Patrick said. “Try growing up with tutors at every turn, or protocol instructors who teach you which fork to use at which part of the meal, how to fold your napkin, and which side of the lips to dab first.”
Toff snorted. He bounced his ball on the rail, caught it, then bounced it against the deck, where it ricocheted against the wall, arced up into the air, and came down into his palm again.
Patrick Fitzpatrick III was a blue blood, the grandson of a former Hansa Chairman. Patrick had been in the Earth Defense Forces, survivor of a disastrous battle against the hydrogues. Zhett was the daughter of Roamer industrialist Del Kellum, whose clan had rescued Patrick along with other injured EDF comrades. Their romance had had a Romeo and Juliet quality—more than twenty years ago.
The toddler squirmed and fussed, and Patrick let him run around on the skydeck, but he watched every movement. Patrick was a good father, maybe to counterbalance the fact that his own upbringing had been so sterile. Zhett had been surprised by the mellowing and growth in his personality. When she first met him, Patrick was—frankly—a jerk. Now he claimed to have learned as much from being a real father as his children learned from having one.
Showing off, Toff threw his ball again, which bounced sideways in front of Rex. As the ball flew toward the edge of the deck, the two-year-old bounded after it in a cockeyed run. Barely even pausing in his conversation with Zhett, Patrick snagged Rex by the collar and held him dangling, arms outstretched, as the ball ricocheted off into the wide-open sky. Patrick didn’t even seem alarmed.
Zhett said, “He could have gone over the edge!”
“No, I was watching.”
Toff added, “I could always grab a swooper and dive down to catch him.”
Zhett took the toddler from her husband and scoffed at Toff’s bravado. “Once he dropped down into the thick clouds, how would you even find him?”
Toff made a rude noise. “Rex would cry so loud I’d hear him for kilometers.”
“You might catch him in time,” Patrick said. “But you’d have to change his diaper afterward.”
“Eww! Now that’s dangerous.”
Zhett let out a sigh, happy with her circumstances. The clouds below were thick, mysterious, quiescent. She had a good husband, a fine family, a fulfilling career, an important skymine. She liked being a wife and mother, she liked being a businesswoman. In fact, she had everything she could possibly want.
That feeling of euphoric satisfaction should have made her suspicious right away.
TEN
SHAREEN FITZKELLUM
“You don’t know everything, young lady,” said the professor, looking as if she’d just swallowed a chemistry experiment gone horribly wrong. “In fact, you don’t even know as much as you think you do.” Professor Mosbach displayed Shareen’s test scores for the other students to see in an obvious and juvenile attempt at humiliation. “You need to concentrate on your learning.” Some of the students chuckled.
Shareen’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t look away. In fact, she faced the teacher, her dark eyes flashing. “I am learning. For instance, I’ve learned that professors don’t know everything either. You taught me that by example.”
This time the students let out guffaws of scandalized astonishment. Shareen was rewarded with seeing Professor Mosbach’s pinched face tighten as if it had just been exposed to a hyper-efficient dehydrator. The woman also flushed a bright red.
Shareen’s lab partner, Howard Rohandas, leaned closer and whispered (but so loudly that everyone could hear anyway), “Don’t provoke her—you’ll just make it awkward. And your calculations were wrong. We can all see that.”
“Who cares about the calculations? My answers were right,” Shareen snapped.
Professor Mosbach stalked back and forth. “This isn’t poetry class. You can’t wait for the muse to inspire you, then pull out an imaginary answer and expect me to believe you understand how you got there. This is a test requiring rigorous calculations, and you are scored on those calculations.”
Shareen snorted again. “In the tests I’m used to, you rig up your own life-support system, install the components in a suit, then test it out by going into hard vacuum. You quantify the test results pretty quickly.”
At seventeen, Shareen had grown accustomed to being rewarded for her imagination and intuition, for solving problems with innovation using the items at hand. That was considered a useful skill among the Roamer clans. Apparently not, however, among stodgy teachers who preferred paperwork to practicality. Letting her imagination wander briefly, Shareen smiled at the thought of how Professor Mosbach would fare in a live vacuum-exposure exercise. . . .
“In my next report to Golgen, Ms. Fitzkellum, I will inform your father about your attitude. Your parents pulled strings to get you into this exclusive school. There’s a waiting list, as you may be aware. You took the place of someone who would appreciate an education more.”
“I very much appreciate an education, ma’am.” Shareen meant it, but to her an “education” did not mean memorizing redundant facts and doing contrived assembly-line problems.
The professor clicked her tongue. “You obviously have intelligence and potential, but you don’t apply yourself.”
“Because I don’t respect the problems you assign,” Shareen muttered. “Completely useless in an emergency.”
Howard spoke up to cover her comment. “I’ll help her study, Professor. I promise she’ll be more accurate in the next examination.”
“Thanks, Howard.” Shareen’s tone conveyed anything but gratitude.
The dark-haired young man was a good lab partner, she had to admit. In fact, he was basically her only friend here, because he didn’t seem to mind her scrappy attitude.
Professor Mosbach controlled her temper as tightly as she controlled her unrealistic initial conditions. “I expect you to do better in the laboratory phase.”
“I will, ma’am.” Shareen did her best to sound meek and chastised. She didn’t entirely succeed, but it was enough to deflect the teacher’s ire.
She knew her father wanted to give her the best education possible and had used his family name to get her into the exclusive academy, but this just wasn’t working, from her attitude to her appearance. Even her hair—Shareen kept her light brown hair tied
up in stubby pigtails, which made her look like a tomboy. Since she tucked her hair in helmets so often, she couldn’t let it grow long. The other students teased her mercilessly, but she wouldn’t change.
Back on the Golgen skymine, she had grown up learning how the systems worked. She tinkered with any gadget she could get her hands on and taught herself how to take things apart long before she learned how to put them back together. In time, though, she could reassemble them better than they were before.
She taught herself the basics, spent years at Academ with hundreds of other Roamer students, learned how to solve bigger problems, cooperate with others, and take advantage of her unique insights. She had been so excited when she was accepted into an exclusive technical institute on Earth, which had produced some of the best scientists and engineers over the past century. Many of her Roamer friends envied her, but Shareen quickly realized that her talents weren’t appreciated here.
She could be sharp-tempered with students who failed to grasp concepts as quickly as she did. She didn’t consider herself better than they were, but she hated to waste time. She didn’t want anyone to hold her back—and teachers like Professor Mosbach certainly held her back.
It was a miserable year for her, and she couldn’t wait to pass her tests and go home in a few weeks. Her attitude alienated her classmates, which made Shareen even more miserable. How could she have survived without Howard’s patience and his calm words? He grounded her in the midst of frustrating insanity.
He was quiet and unflappable, like a sturdy tree that couldn’t be bent by the storm of her impatience. Some days after classes, when Shareen was by herself in the dorm room, stewing over some event, she would realize that she had treated poor Howard badly, and she regretted it, though he never seemed to take offense. What a good friend he was—the only pleasant part about being on Earth.
He helped her with homework, even when she hated to admit that she couldn’t follow the detailed mathematical derivations. Although she grasped concepts instinctively, she couldn’t reproduce all the fine print. Howard, on the other hand, used mathematical notation with a deftness that embarrassed her.
When she’d finally gotten up the nerve to ask him for help, Howard was glad to be of assistance. He patiently went through the work with her, step-by-step. She did comprehend the subject thanks to him, and that time she actually remembered to thank him. “I didn’t get it before. I appreciate it, Howard.”
He had given her a small smile, not a beaming overreaction like a foolish schoolboy. Shareen suggested to Howard that they study together again.
And the following day, she failed her test. She could see the answer in her head, but she simply couldn’t put down all of the nitpicky steps that were so obvious. When an artist painted a tree, did she have to draw in every single leaf? A good artist could convey a “tree” without all that. . . .
In an engineering lab, though, Shareen could follow her imagination and tinker with interesting gadgets. There, she was in her element with the lab stations, workbenches, tools, circuit boards. And it was her turn to help Howard. He observed her closely, and she knew by the intent expression on his face that he was learning as much from watching her as from Professor Mosbach’s lectures.
“I’ve got an idea for a new sort of power block,” she had told him when beginning the project. “Do you want to work on it with me?”
Howard asked her to explain, and she talked quickly, sketching out the thoughts in her head, without being very articulate. Not surprisingly, he didn’t comprehend her design, but instead of growing frustrated, Howard asked for clarification. She tried to explain it another way, but he didn’t grasp how her concept would function. He shook his head in confusion.
Instead of snapping at him, she realized that she must look the same way when she struggled through complex derivations. And he wasn’t bad to look at either. “Okay, a power block is composed of supercharged inverted-energy film, right? The sheets are only a few molecules thick, and when they’re bombarded with high-energy particles, they soak up and retain the energy. Then the film is folded up like origami and densely packed inside a neutral casing.”
He nodded, but she didn’t give him time to absorb. “All the energy stored in the film does no good unless we can release it in a controlled way. I’ve been thinking up a new type of quantum valve—control strips on the edge of the power block’s release port—but it would take a special kind of material.”
Howard had followed her instructions, always at her side in the lab, for the better part of a month as they worked on the project for final exam credit. She wasn’t sure he grasped the nuances of her idea, but he did watch and participate. She was glad to help him, and glad for his help.
Not long after her embarrassing confrontation with Professor Mosbach, they were wrapping up the laboratory aspect, finishing the prototype of the small power block. As Shareen assembled the last sandwich layers of the metallic-origami film that she had spent five days charging, Howard remained silent. Finally he drew out his pad and displayed a confusing wash of calculations. “I’ve broken down the physical and mathematical basis of what I think you’re doing in our project, Shareen. It’s necessary documentation.”
Shareen wouldn’t have bothered to do that, but she nodded. “Thanks. I doubt Mosbach would give us credit without all the paperwork.”
“It’s not just that. I want you to look at this: I think there’s a chance of an arcing discharge from the connectors of your new strips coupled with the old film.”
He showed the math to her, but she stared blankly. “You’re saying it won’t work? I thought you didn’t understand what we were doing.”
“I understand it better now that I’ve done the calculations and run models. I am somewhat concerned.”
Shareen didn’t want to take out her frustration on him. “What do you propose we do then? Our project is due in three days. I know the principle is sound.”
“I’m sure the principle is, but I’m worried about the details of its execution.”
He showed her the math again. Finally, she held up her hands. “I’m still waiting to hear your suggestion. What do we do?”
“I think we should try out the power block now before anyone sees. That way, we’ll have a chance to make adjustments if necessary.”
“All right.” She hooked up the leads, wanting to get this over with.
When she dumped the power block into the battery reservoir, the strips flickered, and a succession of popping noises was accompanied by blue-white sparks. Howard yanked the leads free. Acrid electrical smoke curled up from the block. Other students glanced at their lab station, but Shareen pretended nothing was wrong.
Embarrassed, she turned to Howard, expecting him to say “I told you so,” but instead he gave a matter-of-fact nod. “Good to know. Now let’s fix the glitch.” He gave her a small smile. “I have an idea for an insulation damper. If we work nonstop, we should be able to refold and connect the filmsheets, and make a functional power block before our deadline.”
Shareen felt stung, but he had been right. “Thanks, Howard. You prevented a disaster.” She drew a breath. “All right, let’s solve this.”
They worked in silence for more than an hour before Howard said, “I’ve never seen anyone better than you at making intuitive leaps, at coming up with amazing and unconventional ideas. But they still have to be implemented, and that takes attention to detail.”
Shareen groaned. “The tedious part. I’m not a detail person. Maybe big ideas aren’t always enough. I get impatient, cut corners. You’re the exact opposite. It never occurred to me that details could be as important as a leap of genius.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “So . . . genius and detail are both required to make major progress. Good to know.”
This time, when Howard smiled she felt as if she were seeing him for the first time.
Even though she looked forward to being free of this maddening place and going back home to the Golgen skymine w
here she could do real work for a change, she wished Howard could go with her. He really was the best part of being at school on Earth.
“I learned something very important from that, Howard.” She touched his arm. “I learned that we make a pretty good team.”
ELEVEN
ELISA REEVES
Though her ship was faster than Garrison’s, the search was tedious. Elisa raced along the course her husband had set, making up for lost time in open space. But she had to wait for the ping from her bread crumb tracking devices, had to find the little beacon buoy that was automatically dropped off each time he changed course. Then she had to take readings, adjust her course, and head off again. It was so time-consuming.
Yet she didn’t consider giving up or letting him get away with her son—not for a minute.
She had found three bread crumbs already, and Garrison’s staggering path made no sense. If she could figure out where he was taking Seth, she could head there and intercept him. But his flight was erratic, zigzagging across space and out into nowhere. Why would he do that, unless he was trying to hide from her? Maybe he guessed that she was hunting for him. Yes, in some ways Garrison was a smart man. She clenched her jaw. In some ways, though, he was a fool.
Drifting near another bread crumb buoy, she projected where he was headed now. Garrison didn’t seem to be aiming for any particular star system, known Roamer outpost, Confederation planet, or even an Ildiran splinter colony. She activated her stardrive and headed after him again.
Her personal mission had consumed her for days. Though she’d remembered to bring work along—documents to review, processes to audit and, if possible, streamline—she hadn’t been able to focus on her job since racing away from Sheol. And she resented Garrison for that too.
By now, Lee Iswander would be making his case to the Roamer clans at Newstation. Normally, in his absence, Elisa would have taken charge of the lava-processing operations, but since she had to deal with this nonsense, he would have given the responsibility to Alec Pannebaker. She should have been his first choice.
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