Free Of Fire and Night by Kevin J. Anderson Page A

Andez, who made no secret of her resentment toward the Roamers. Because that fit so nicely with the Hansa’s position, Shelia got as many bookings and honoraria as she wanted.
    The public grumbled that clan Kellum had not seen fit to turn over the brave soldiers immediately after rescuing them. The public didn’t know what they were talking about, and the Hansa kept it that way. He found it offensive; worse, a year ago he would have believed the ridiculous propaganda.
    His grandmother stepped out onto the deck. Though he faced the opposite direction, he could sense she was there, and that she must be scowling in disapproval. The former Hansa Chairman had looked over his shoulder all his life while his parents went off on innocuous diplomatic assignments designed to keep them away from anything important. Fitzpatrick didn’t acknowledge her.
    “Just sitting out in the cold again? Another day down the drain?” As a power broker, Maureen never wasted time on unnecessary small talk; she watched the clock, charged every minute of her time to one account or other.
    “Does it bother you that I’ve got things to think about, Grandmother? Or would you prefer I joined some politically correct volunteer organization?” Intentionally, he blew out a white breath; it reminded him of the vented atmosphere from broken-open pressure domes when Kiro Yamane’s reprogrammed Soldier compies had gone on a rampage—the extravagant diversion that gave Patrick his chance to escape.
    “You don’t look like you’re enjoying your furlough, Patrick. I pulled strings to get you plenty of time off, along with full media attention. Your comrades seem to be reveling in their freedom, going to parties, vacationing, exercising. Why don’t you visit some of the friends who were rescued with you?”
    “They weren’t my friends, Grandmother. Just fellow prisoners.”
    “Well, I invited them to your reception tomorrow, so I hope you’re ready to be sociable. Every day, you just sit here and stare at the snow.”
    “Maybe that’s what I need right now.” He still didn’t look at her. “I didn’t ask for a reception.”
    Maureen put a hand on his shoulder, but she was only imitating a gesture of comfort that she had seen other people make. “There, there. It’s really the best thing after what you’ve been through.” She had raised him, shaped him, tried to mold him into a perfect Fitzpatrick heir. In doing so, she had unwittingly taught him to recognize her manipulations. Patrick could either pretend to cooperate, or he could find some way to short-circuit her intentions.
    He gave a sour laugh. “A lot of people have been through a lot of things.” At last he glanced at her and was immediately reminded of her nickname. With her stern face, sharp nose, and narrow chin, the “Battleaxe” did resemble a heavy-bladed weapon.
    Seeing that she couldn’t melt him with her charm, Maureen crossed thin arms over her chest, but was too controlled to let herself shiver in the cold. “I also wanted to give you a report. There’s been news. The EDF dispatched investigation ships to Osquivel even before we got home. They wanted to inspect Roamer operations in the rings, salvage anything, gather information.”
    “And they didn’t find anything, did they?”
    “The place was entirely abandoned. EDF search teams discovered a few remnants of the shipyards, but either everything was destroyed by the Soldier compies, or else the Roamers scuttled the facilities themselves. Typical. Whenever their furtive little operations are exposed, they scurry away like cockroaches.” When she smiled, her thin lips became completely colorless. Patrick had never noticed that before.
    “What did you expect them to do? They exchanged the hydrogue derelict for their freedom—that was the deal—but they knew they weren’t safe. Why doesn’t the Hansa just leave them alone?”
    She clucked her tongue. “Patrick, you are certainly obsessed with the Roamers! May I