"Well good. I'm glad to see that your expensive education is affording you some awareness of the world. When you told me you had bumped those free miners off the asteroid, I thought you might have lost control of all your mental faculties."
"Your precious prototype wasn't damaged, Father."
"You're right about that, Lem. It is precious. Several billion credits worth. The Makarhu is rather valuable as well. It's one of our fastest, most luxurious ships. Which is why I can't for the life of me understand why you would be irresponsible enough to risk damaging all that. This is piloting 101, Lem. These are fundamental principles that every captain knows. Rule number one: Don't destroy the ship. Rule number two: Don't kill the crew. Surely someone reviewed this with you before you set out."
Lem turned away from Father and gazed out the window. They had left the terminal now and were flying over the lunar landscape back toward the city. To their right were the massive Juke production facilities where most of the ships in Father's mining fleet were built and tested prior to their departure for the Belt. A massive Juke logo was prominently displayed on the largest and tallest of the buildings.
"Yes, I gave Chubs special instructions," said Father. "I told him not to follow any or
der of yours that might put you in danger. I did so to protect my property and to protect you."
"Protect me from what, Father? My own poor judgment? My own stupidity? Don't you realize that by giving that order, you not only stripped me of true command, you also demonstrated your complete lack of confidence in me?"
"Is that what you want, Lem? Do you want me to tell you how confident I am in you, how sure I am that you can do it? Do you honestly need that kind of coddling?"
Lem wanted to scream. He wanted to beat the back of his head into the headrest. But he kept still and said nothing.
"And why are you complaining anyway?" said Father. "Chubs obviously ignored my order. You attacked the Formic ship, for crying out loud, an alien vessel a hundred times your size. I'd say that constitutes dangerous orders. Chubs clearly didn't supersede you then. He followed you, not me."
"He refused my orders on other occasions."
"So you were giving out multiple dangerous orders? Well, in that case, it sounds like you were more reckless than I expected and that I was right to give him the instructions I did. You should be thanking me. I might have saved your life."
Lem turned back to the window. Nothing had changed. Father was as critical and impossible as ever--fixated on Lem's mistakes and blind to all of Lem's accomplishments. Lem had intended to tell Father how Lem and the crew had mined the asteroid, how they had developed a method for extracting the ferromagnetic minerals from the rock after it had been pulverized, which was a potential industry breakthrough. Yet now Lem had no desire to tell Father anything. Why should he? Father would only see the errors. He would only shoot the whole premise with holes.
Lem suddenly felt angry with himself, realizing now that he had wanted to tell Father the good news not because he knew the extraction technique would help the company, but because he so desperately wanted to win Father's favor.
How pathetic, thought Lem. After everything, I'm still poking about for Father's approval. Well, not anymore. Enjoy your comfortable seat, Father. If I have my way, this won't be your skimmer or company much longer.
They flew over the northern outskirts of Imbrium and then continued south over the Old City. Then the skimmer banked to the left and headed east. Soon the city was behind them, and they were once again over untouched lunar surface. Finally, they came to one of the entrances into the tunnels of Juke Limited.
The entrance was a wide, circular landing pad with a giant letter-number combination on its center, signifying where in the intricate tunnel system they would be entering. The skimmer touched down gently, and the landing pad descended like an elevator. After thirty meters, the landing pad stopped at a brightly lit docking bay, where robot arms lifted the skimmer and carried it off the pad and into the bay airlock.
Lem could see a shuttle and a few technicians waiting in the bay just outside the airlock. He and Father sat in silence a moment while the airlock pressurized.
When Father finally spoke, all the bite was gone from his voice. "I am glad you're home, Lem. Despite what you may think, I am glad you're safe. I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with, but everything I've done, I've done because I thought it was best for you. I didn't have an easy upbringing, Lem. You know that. What I've built, I've built from nothing. And one of my fears has always been that your life would be too soft, that you would be too soft. Not because of who you are, but because of what we have, because of the luxuries our fortune affords us. I didn't want you to be a child of privilege, Lem. I didn't want a silver spoon in your mouth. I wanted a bitter spoon for you. Like I had. You may think that makes me a terrible parent, and maybe you're right, but you're a better man because of it. There's no arguing that."
The airlock buzzed the all-clear, and without another word, Father opened the door and stepped out of the skimmer. He walked through the airlock door and climbed into the waiting shuttle. It whisked him away immediately and disappeared down a corridor.
Lem sat there a moment, too stunned to move. Not because Father had just abandoned him--Father was always zipping off somewhere--but because Father had never spoken to Lem that way. He had never discussed their relationship or broached the subject of their fortune. Not that Father had made any attempt to conceal their fortune from Lem. How could he? Everything around them bore witness to it. And yet to hear Father mention it and, more significantly, for Father to acknowledge that Lem was any measure of a man felt completely foreign to Lem.
And yet Father had seemed sincere. There was no hint of irony or sarcasm in his voice.
What was this? Lem wondered. Another test? Another exercise in humiliation? Or was Father actually speaking from the heart?
"What's the matter, Lem?" a voice said. "You got space legs?"
Lem looked up. Father's assistant, Simona, was outside in the airlock, bent forward and looking inside the skimmer, holding her holopad.
"You're not stuck in there are you? Do I need to call someone?"
"My legs are fine," said Lem. He climbed out of the skimmer then brushed a nonexistent speck of dust off his sleeve.
"Little atrophy is nothing to be ashamed of," Simona said. "Two years in zero-G is a long time."
She was talking to him like he was a boy, just as she always had, even though she was only five years his senior. He hated that. "I'm fine," he said.
He hadn't noticed her standing there among the technicians earlier, but that didn't surprise him. Simona had a way of suddenly appearing at Father's side exactly when he needed her, usually without making a sound. Lem had jokingly called her a jungle cat once, which she had mistakenly taken as some flirtation. She had then proceeded to tell Lem that she wouldn't be one of his conquests and flatly denied him. Lem had laughed at that, which Simona had taken as yet another insult. It was all a silly misunderstanding, but it had soured the air between them, and Lem could sense that two years apart hadn't mended that.