64

Patrick Fitzpatrick III

Maureen Fitzpatrick actually proved to be a gracious hostess. Over the course of several days, Patrick told his grandmother what he’d been doing since flying off with her space yacht to find Zhett. Someone more romantic might have found it a heartwarming tale, but the old Battleaxe said that she simply considered him foolish and sappy.

But Patrick didn’t allow himself to think of this as a merely social visit. King Peter had sent him here to plant a few provocative ideas in the former Chairman’s mind and find out what she really thought about the Confederation and about Basil Wenceslas.

One afternoon the three of them sat together on a large open porch, looking out at the snowcapped peaks and breathing cool mountain air that was fresher than anything he had tasted in a Roamer facility. Maureen had newscreens playing in the background, as she always did. Though it had been decades since she had served as Hansa Chairman, she nevertheless surrounded herself with current events, as if she were still a vital cog in the wheel.

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Patrick finally blurted out something he had been meaning to say since he arrived. “Grandmother, I know you used to think of me as headstrong and selfish and immature — ”

“Used to?” she broke in.

“I’m trying to apologize here!” He flushed red, and Maureen fell awkwardly silent. Neither he nor his grandmother was good at this. “I was a lazy, spoiled pain in the ass, but I’ve learned that I need to work for what I want, whether it’s respect or belongings.”

“Not much room for lazy people in a Roamer outpost,” Zhett said. “We straightened him out, eventually.”

The former Chairman narrowed her eyes. “You showed some of that when you got in the middle of the EDF and the Roamers, when you made me broker a cease-fire at Osquivel. I could see you weren’t the same old Patrick.” She grew serious. “I always knew you had a lot more potential than your parents did. That’s why I was so hard on you. You just needed to get your head on straight.”

Patrick felt a lump in his throat. He squeezed Zhett’s hand. “When I came home, I sulked around, didn’t do much of anything, but I knew what was really going on out there. I had to take a stand. I couldn’t go back to serve the EDF when I knew thatthey had started the war with the Roamers. So I ran. I’m sorry I abused your trust by stealing your space yacht. I didn’t think of anyone but myself. I was rationalizing, taking what I needed.”

He thought of how Chairman Wenceslas and General Lanyan justified raids on Roamers, Ildirans, human colonies — even committing murder — simply because they “needed” something. But Patrick refused to think like they did.

Maureen made an awkward gesture of dismissal. “I’ve got plenty of personal ships. You didn’t cause me a moment’s hardship — I was more annoyed that you’d run off just because you were heartsick for some girl.” Before Zhett could interject, Maureen continued. “I can’t say I’m pleased that you deserted the EDF, but I didn’t listen to you either. I thought you needed therapy to get over your delusions, but dammit, you were right — at least for the most part. I watched the rah-rah images of the pogrom on Usk; I listen to the crazy Archfather; I see what the Chairman’s special cleanup crew is doing every day.” She shook her head in disgust.

General Lanyan came on one of the newscreens, suddenly drawing all of their attention. With great fanfare he announced the launch of a new military initiative against the Klikiss in order to “avenge the senseless murder of Admiral Diente and his peaceful diplomatic mission to Pym.” In a bold, gruff voice, he vowed to “teach the vicious insect race to fear the Earth Defense Forces.” Patrick noted that the newsnets mentioned neither Lanyan’s piracy at the Golgen skymines, nor how he had been resoundingly beaten at Osquivel.

“Asshole.” Maureen rolled her eyes at the General’s bravado. “Lanyan’s come crawling home with his tail between his legs so often he’s getting calluses on his backside.”

Patrick scowled. “I can’t believe I used to admire him.”

“You used to be remarkably ill informed, Fitzie,” Zhett teased, “not to mention thickheaded.”

“Thanks.”

Maureen couldn’t tear her eyes from the newsnet screen. “Lanyan’s latest boondoggle isn’t half as stupid as Basil’s boneheaded new plan to cooperate with the black robots. Why the hell is a HansaChairman agreeing to manufacture more of those damned alien machines?”

Patrick said, “Is it any wonder the opposition groups are growing louder, even though he tries to stomp them down? He pumps up the fear to keep the people believing his iron fist is better than the alternative — but they don’t think about any alternatives.”

“They don’t bother to think at all,” Maureen said with a sniff. “Bunch of sheep. At least Freedom’s Sword is pointing in the right direction.”

Using his grandmother’s sophisticated media-watch network, Patrick and Zhett had been admiring the ingenious ways dissidents had managed to insert condemnations and seditious messages into a variety of communications venues; his old shipmate Shelia Andez and her cleanup crew were driving themselves crazy chasing down rumors and supposed propaganda strongholds, only to come up empty-handed time and again.

“It sure isn’t the way I would run the circus tent,” Maureen grumbled. “In fact, when I was Chairman — ”

Patrick seized the perfect segue. “That’s actually why we’re here, Grandmother. King Peter himself asked us to speak with you.”

“King Peter? So you’re rubbing elbows with the high and mighty. The Hansa calls him an outlaw — I’ve read the official press releases.” She seemed to find it amusing.

Zhett didn’t. “Outlaw? King Peter leads the majority of the human race. Basil Wenceslas is the real criminal. For months now, King Peter has been calling for him to resign.”

“Like that’ll ever happen,” Maureen said.

“Then maybe he should be deposed,” Patrick suggested quietly. He was sure his grandmother had thought of it herself, many times.

Pretending to ignore what he had just said, Maureen switched off the newscreen in disgust. “You don’t have to tell me all the things the Chairman has done wrong. But I’m not at the helm anymore.”

“Funny you should mention that. We have an official offer from the Confederation that you’ll want to hear. It’s right up your alley.”

Patrick made his pitch, explaining how the King wanted her to provide a counterpoint to the propaganda of Chairman Wenceslas, while acting as an official liaison between the orphaned colonies, the government of Theroc, and the failing Hansa. “It’s extremely prestigious and important. Think about it, Grandmother — what are you accomplishing around here?”

“Why, I thought you always resented my political work.” Her lips quirked in a smile, playing him.