Free Terminus (Fringe Worlds #1) by Kevin Hardman Page A

he could handle it. If they were planning to take things a step further…
    As if reading Maker’s mind, the lieutenant who the admiral had spoken to suddenly stood up. Accompanied by three companions, he approached Maker’s table with a stride that said he meant business. When they got close, Maker glanced at the lieutenant’s nametag: it read “Kepler.”
    Kepler and one of his cronies – a big, burly fellow who looked like he wrestled bears in his spare time – sat down on the bench across from Maker. Their other two friends sat down on either side of him (even though the one near the end really didn’t have enough room, and must have had half of his posterior hanging off the bench seating). The room essentially went silent; Maker, knife and fork in hand, kept eating.
    “You’re Arrogant Maker,” Kepler said. It wasn’t a question.
    “Every day,” Maker retorted.
    “ Madman Maker,” Kepler said. “ Maniac Maker.”
    Maker didn’t reply; he simply cut another piece of fowl and ate it.
    “You know, some of us had friends serving on the Orpheus Moon ,” Kepler went on.
    “What a coincidence,” Maker said. “So did I.”
    “Well, one was Admiral Greeley’s son.” Kepler nodded in the direction of the admiral, who looked like he wanted to shove a grenade down Maker’s throat. “My cousin.”
    Maker took a moment to reflect. He remembered Lieutenant Greeley. He’d been a little green, but with some seasoning he had been likely to become a fine officer.
    Maker spared another glance for the admiral, who still looked as though he believed Maker would make excellent lawn fertilizer. A general officer was a powerful foe to have working against you. For the first time, it occurred to Maker that a number of people on Captain Wendren’s ship had come from families with long military traditions and were related to high-ranking officers. In fact, Wendren himself had come from a politically well-connected family.
    Maker frowned slightly. How many enemies had he made that day when the Orpheus Moon took its fateful jump? How many people had called in favors to see that he got the boot? And now that he was back, how many would be gunning for him again?
    All of this flitted through his mind over the course of a few seconds. Maker decided to see if there was a diplomatic way to end things.
    “Look,” he began, “what happened aboard the Orpheus Moon was tragic, but wasn’t my doing. I’m sorry for how things turned out, but it wa–”
    Kepler pounded the table with his fist hard enough to rattle Maker’s plate, the sound seemingly magnified by the hushed tone pervading the room.
    “Nobody cares how sorry you are!” Kepler hissed. “The fact of the matter is you’re somehow alive when everyone else is dead, and it’s your fault!”
    Maker gripped the knife and fork in his hands so tightly that it was a wonder that he didn’t hurt himself.
    “Alright,” he said flatly, sizing up his opponents and trying to imagine how this scuffle was going to unfold. “Let’s do this.”
    His tone and willingness to fight seemed to catch them off-guard, but Kepler recovered soon enough. Maker could see the man’s muscles tensing underneath his shirt as he prepared to go into action.
    An unexpected cough, clearly intended to get their attention, sounded from the general officers’ table. Kepler and his friends all turned in that direction – towards Admiral Greeley. Maker warily cast a glance in that direction and caught the admiral fiercely shake his head. Kepler clearly got the message: Not here .
    Kepler stood up, and his friends followed his lead.
    “You got lucky this time,” he angrily told Maker. “But you can bet that we’ll see you before you leave.”
    With that, they exited the mess hall. The threat of an imminent fight now gone, Maker focused on trying to finish his dinner; afterwards, he hung around the O Club for an extra half hour – just in case his new friends were waiting on him outside –