“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.