“Shareen designed several of our engineering upgrades herself,” Patrick said with understandable pride. “She’s got a good feel for the operations.”
Del eyed his son-in-law. “And have you figured out all the processes yet? Every skyminer needs to know every system.”
“I’ve picked up quite a bit over the years. Zhett and I manage the skymine together.”
“Of course she manages the skymine—she’s my daughter.”
“Fitzy and I do it together, Dad,” Zhett corrected. Del had never resolved that in his mind. “I cured him of a life of luxury long ago. You should be glad he didn’t go into Confederation politics.”
Del gave a grudging nod. “He’s better off here on the skymine. Or maybe I should take you to my distillery on Kuivahr—then you’d really get your hands dirty.”
Patrick pulled Rex closer in his antigrav harness and gave his son a playful bounce. “As exciting as you make that sound, I think I’ll stay here. We still have a family to raise.”
Coming from a blue-blood family, not to mention being the grandson of a former Hansa chairman, Patrick had absolutely no interest in politics, though he could have had any number of ambassadorial positions or government posts. Patrick decided he preferred the Roamer way of life, and he was perfectly content with his spirited and beautiful wife.
“And where’s my other grandson?” Del looked around the control dome as if he expected Toff to be working one of the stations. “Hope he’s studying hard. His sister left some big shoes for him to fill.”
“Toff is reminded of that every day,” Patrick said. “We’ll find him down on the loading dock. Busy day today. Four big shipments going out, open-grid cargo frameworks lined up and waiting to be loaded with ekti canisters.”
“Let’s go see the boy. Once I review how you do things, maybe I can offer suggestions for improvement. I have plenty of experience in industrial operations, you know—not to mention leading all the Roamer clans.”
“We’ll be happy to hear your suggestions,” Patrick said. This time Zhett gave him the What can you do? look.
The skymine was a satisfying flurry of activity. Down on the cargo deck, the air was filled with fumes and stardrive exhaust, the smell of hot engines and cold chemical breezes. The bay rang with the clamor of tanks being loaded onto pallets, adjustment jets maneuvering cargo frames into place where their open grids were loaded with hundreds of ekti canisters for transport. Two empty cargo frames hovered outside in the sky, waiting to enter the big bay.
“You should have a subsidiary storage raft where you can keep surplus silos of ekti,” Del announced. “You’re producing faster than you can distribute.”
Zhett pointed out the cargo doors. Not far off, a storage raft floated above the clouds, loaded with excess ekti tanks. “Like that one you mean?”
“Exactly like that, by damn. But you should really have two of them.”
They did, in fact, have a second one under construction. Rather than point that out, Patrick said, “We’ll run the numbers and see if it makes sense.”
Outside, workers with safety jetpacks rode on slender swoopers, zooming around the skymine like wasps as they guided the waiting ships. The swoopers rode up to intercept a cargo hopper, while inspectors wearing helmets and insulated suits dove deeper to follow the probe lines.
Near one wall, Kristof was using antigrav handles to stack empty crates. Seeing his grandfather, he bounded over to them. Del Kellum sized up his grandson. “You must be five centimeters taller than last time, but there’s not a speck of meat on your bones! Zhett, don’t you ever feed this boy?”
Toff said, “I burn it off. There’ll be enough time for me to fill out later.” He playfully jabbed his grandfather’s significant gut. “I hear it happens to everyone when they get older.”
A loud crash outside the loading area startled them, and two jumpsuited loaders leaped out of the way. An incoming ship flown by an impatient pilot struck a glancing blow against a cargo frame, which jarred one of the racks loose. Trying to avert disaster, workers ran yelling and waving toward the open bay doors and the long drop into the sky, but they couldn’t stop the collision.
The empty ship caromed off and went tumbling as the pilot reasserted control. The heavier cargo frame skidded to a halt on the deck, but ten ekti canisters were knocked loose and tumbled out of the bay and into Golgen’s sky.
Zhett’s mouth dropped open. “Damn clumsy asses! That’s valuable stuff, and now it’s—”
“I’ve got this, Mom.” Toff grabbed one of the narrow swoopers and swung it around toward the open door. “Already got antigrav handles in my pockets. I can round up those tanks.” He started the engine, lifted off from the deck. “All I have to do is fly faster than they can fall.”
“Careful!” Patrick yelled—out of habit, not because it would make any impression.
Del was shocked. “You’re letting the boy…”
Toff’s swooper streaked out of the open bay door and plunged straight down the clouds below.
Zhett shrugged. “He’s done it before.”
Del chuckled and cupped his hands around his bearded mouth and shouted after him, “Watch out for hydrogues down there!”
“He’s not going that deep,” Zhett said. “He’ll catch up with the canisters before they hit the secondary cloud deck. Otherwise, the mist will get too thick for him to see.”
Bobbing in his antigrav harness, Rex seemed amused by the activity, as well as his brother flying off in such a rush. Patrick muttered to Del, “But please don’t tell Toff not to find the drogues because then he’ll do it just to prove himself.”
THIRTY-ONE
ARITA
In the camp near the Klikiss ruins, researchers were stunned to learn of administrator Bolam’s death. Eljiid was a rugged and unexplored world, however, with countless natural hazards—including poisonous plants.
Lara Vanh and Kam Pellieri prepared the administrator’s body, while Tarker and Orfino wrote up a report, summarizing what had happened, to the best of their knowledge. Arita joined the research teams in an impromptu meeting to discuss the matter, and they decided to bury the man there rather than ship his body back through the transportal to Rheindic Co. Besides, Margaret Colicos was already under a cairn nearby, so they had the beginnings of a cemetery.
Although Arita had barely met the man, she helped with the burial after a cursory funeral service, piling rocks over his body in a cairn much smaller than the memorial for Margaret Colicos. Vanh played her stringed instrument.
Then the independent teams got back to work on their own projects. They didn’t particularly need to be managed, although from that point on the teams were more careful to avoid native plants that might provoke deadly allergic reactions. Arita was glad that she had learned of the Whistler toxin before she blundered into the thickets in an attempt to connect with the possibly sentient cacti.
Day after day, she sat cross-legged at the edge of the Whistler grove and listened to them. As the breezes picked up, the gnarled, angular cacti began to whisper and mutter in what sounded like a secret conversation. When the winds grew stronger, she heard the fluting music that had given the plants their name. She tried to crack the code and learn the mysterious language, but it eluded her.