Page 75 of Escape Velocity

“By choice,” Gatroux answered.

“In Port City you are called Swamp Rats. What do you call yourselves?”

“The Lucky Ones.”

That drew laughter from the group.

“Do you have a more formal name?”

“We are not tied to formality. But when we have negotiated with the authorities, we have styled ourselves the Tribe. But among our people, we call ourselves the Inheritors.”

“Why?”

“Because they are on the wrong road, and we are the ones who will inherit this planet.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because we understand this land. We take what we need from it, but we do not destroy precious resources. Those in the city have lost touch with nature. They only come in and lay waste. And if their machines failed, they would not know how to live.

“I can see your point,” Max conceded before asking, “Do the Feds give you any trouble?”

“They’ve learned not to test themselves against us,” one of the younger men answered, his tone brash.

“Even the guy who’s got a big house not far from here?”

The question drew mutters around the table. The security chief, Dubois, had said little. But he was the one who answered. “Mostly.”

Max didn’t ask for any details.

Amber focused on her food. Maybe the dinner was supposed to be a relaxing get-together, but it was a constant strain for her.

One of the younger men from the greeting party cleared his throat and looked at Max. “Would your wife sing for us again?”

Amber went very still.

Max looked at her. “Would you mind?”

She saw in his eyes that he thought it might be a good way to steer away from the tension that had suddenly spring up.

“I’d love to,” she said, mouthing another lie. Standing, she walked a little way from the table and composed herself. In the flickering light from the torches, she began to sing that first song she had sung for Max when they’d gotten to the Golden Fleece.

All eyes were on her, and she tried to stand straight and tall, losing herself in the emotions of the song. But she had never sung for so many people, and she couldn’t help being nervous about the reaction of the audience. They seemed to be paying close attention to her, and she thought that was a good sign. When she was finished, there was a moment of silence. Then the men began to clap their hands together, and the women at the far end of the gathering did the same. From the looks on their faces, she judged that the clapping was a sign of approval.

“Your wife is very talented,” Gatroux said.

Max’s voice was steady. “Tell her, not me.”

The head man nodded and addressed her. “My apologies, Madam. Your customs are different from ours.” He turned to Amber. “That was lovely.”

“Thank you.”

Before anyone could ask for another song, Max said, “I hate to break up the party, but it’s been a long day for my wife. We’d like to go to bed, if you don’t mind.”

There it was again—wife. Every time Max said it, Amber felt a shiver go down her spine. It might mean nothing to him, but it was like a tantalizing dream that she wished were reality.

“Of course,” Gatroux said. “A thousand pardons for prolonging the meal.”

“No apologies necessary,” Max said.

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