Garrison would have pointed out that few people on Earth had any influence on why the faeros had destroyed the Moon, but that was an argument his father never would have let him win. Fortunately, clan Reeves was pulling up roots and heading away from civilization. Olaf would never know.
After his work briefing in the lunar rubble belt, Garrison moved into a company-provided habitation unit in the civilian section of the Lunar Orbital Complex. Although concessions were made to allow for daycare and schooling, most LOC workers either had other arrangements or no families at all. That was all right; Garrison didn’t expect Seth to remain there long.
His son searched for new educational loops recorded by Orli Covitz and her Friendly compy DD. Garrison had begun to realize how much Seth enjoyed them, counted on them as distant friends even on Sheol where there were no other children, and while he traveled alone with his father. Seth seemed disappointed. “I think Orli stopped making the loops. I haven’t found a new one in a long time. Do you think something happened to DD?” He was genuinely worried.
“A lot of things can happen in a person’s life,” Garrison said. “Relleker is far away, though, and we have no way of knowing.”
Soon, Seth would be much happier. Garrison told his son the news after he finished filing all the proper forms. “It’s set, Seth. We’ll stay here another two days while I finish my work arrangements, and then I’ll fly us off to Newstation. You’re already approved.”
Seth beamed. “Academ? I’m going to be with the Teacher compies?”
“And the other Roamer children.”
His son was visibly thrilled. “But will it be all right? I could help you with your work here. I know how to suit up, and how to drive a cargo pod and operate machinery. That’s all you need.”
He didn’t doubt Seth was as qualified as many of the workers assigned to the LOC worksites. “Yes, but it’s not all you need, and you’ll learn a lot more with intensive Roamer instruction. I need you to be educated, not just trained. Training will only get you so far. Education will make you wise.”
“Grandfather Olaf said experience makes you wise.”
“That too,” Garrison admitted. “But let’s get you an education before you experience too many things. You need friends your own age.” He softened his voice, “Your grandfather did say one true thing—a knife loses its edge unless it is sharpened.”
“And I’ll get my edge at Academ?”
Nodding, Garrison realized that he needed to get his own edge back too. He called up images of the Roamer school and showed Seth the interior of the hollowed-out comet, where waterfalls flowed from all directions with wental-charged water. From the sparkle in the boy’s eyes, Garrison knew he had made the right decision.
FIFTY-THREE
LEE ISWANDER
A few months ago, Lee Iswander could not have imagined such an ambitious new start, the possibilities as numerous and bright as all the stars in the Spiral Arm. After losing everything at Sheol, he had doubted he would ever recover. But now, thanks to Elisa’s discovery of the bloaters, he had a tremendous opportunity, and he did not intend to waste it. Iswander Industries would rise like a phoenix from the ashes of the lava-processing disaster.
Elisa had led him out to the new cluster of drifting sacks, thousands of them on the far outer edge of a solar system that was so obscure it had no name, only coordinate numbers. The silent bloaters were as marvelous as they were mysterious.
Alec Pannebaker ran an analysis, trying to understand what the swollen nodules were, where they were drifting, and why they had clustered together in ways that gravity could not explain. They were possibly organic, but with very little structure. A comparison to giant plankton seemed apt. Most important, the membrane-enclosed globules were filled with ekti that could be easily drained and processed. That was all Iswander needed to know.
Most of his assets had been tied up in the Sheol facility, his primary accounts impounded, pending legal actions. Accusations and criminal charges flitted about as the investigation continued, but Roamers were loathe to fall into what they saw as “old Hansa ways” of pointing fingers, looking for scapegoats, and solving problems with lawsuits. The history of the gypsy clans was filled with instances of life-support failures, dome breaches, asteroid collisions, structural collapses. Sometimes the universe lashed out, and people paid the price. Roamers tended to stick together.
Even so, they were not convinced the industrialist was really a Roamer, in his heart.
When Iswander tried to buy the equipment he needed for his new secret operations, many Roamer businessmen refused to deal with him, blaming him for the Sheol catastrophe. One particularly intractable supplier of storage silos told Iswander, “You’d never be able to meet my price.”
Iswander met the man’s gaze. “Name your price—I’ll meet it.”
The supplier crossed his arms over his chest. “Fifteen hundred and forty-three lives.”
Iswander went elsewhere. He managed to liquidate some of his other assets, scraping together enough funds to buy the basic equipment he needed, though he told no one what it was for. Over the course of a month, he set up his operations in the new bloater field under tight security, inviting a small group of workers who were willing to take another chance on Iswander Industries, the few faithful who had stuck with him even in his darkest hour.
The drifting cluster of bloaters soon developed into an ambitious ekti-extraction outpost: a cluster of big ships, modular stations, industrial storage tanks, pumping vessels, and six cargo shuttles that would soon begin distributing stardrive fuel. Iswander was optimistic, and expected he would need more ships soon enough. These thousands of bloaters held a wealth of ekti for the taking, and no one else knew the source.
Fifteen of his modular habitats were linked together, comprising a headquarters, an admin module, living quarters, landing bays, and a small medical center in case of accidental injuries. At the moment, only sixty people worked out at the site, but once Iswander began making a profit he could hire more employees, all carefully vetted. Before long, Lee Iswander would restore his wealth and, more important, his reputation.
His wife and son were glad to help him make a fresh start. Though they were lonely out here, both Arden and Londa believed him when he said he was going to make his name and his fortune all over again. Elisa Reeves got to work, as she always did.
Pannebaker and two other engineers modified existing equipment to drain bloater sacks. The ekti was easily obtained, the operation far more efficient than the huge and expensive traditional skymines that processed mind-boggling quantities of hydrogen into small amounts of stardrive fuel. Iswander knew that his new ekti source would change the Confederation, change the whole Spiral Arm—but he did not intend to reveal his secret.
Best of all, tests confirmed that the ekti from the bloaters had a higher energy potential than traditional stardrive fuel. The difference was so remarkable that Iswander decided to call his product ekti-X. There would be much consternation among the Roamers who now shunned him, because they wouldn’t be able to figure out his source.
Occasionally, the nodules sparkled and flashed, but no one understood why, how to predict the sequence, or what it meant. The discharge caused problems with electronic circuitry nearby, and Iswander’s engineers installed significant shielding where necessary. Because he knew how explosive the bloaters could be, having seen the images Elisa brought back, he also instituted extreme safety measures.