Highlights from Theft of Fire by Devon Eriksen
Highlights from this book
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I've kicked plenty of ass before. You don't work as a roughneck, you don't hang out with roughnecks, without getting in a brawl or two. Flatlanders might find that shocking, but for Belter work crews, a dustup can be nothing more than a way to clear the air, let some grievances out. Settle things. It's a guy thing. You're friends again afterwards. Didn't understand that when I came out here. Shortarse nerdy Flatlander kid, liked science fiction books and video games, boss's son, and so on. Dad knew I had to learn it. Dad never bailed me out. They're doing this for a reason, Marc. Yes, they are simple, but simple isn't the same as stupid. Hazing the new guy isn't pointless sadism; it's a test. They're testing to see if they can rely on you to have their back out there. You need to prove to them you have the guts to do your part in a crisis.
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The night is going by in bite-sized pieces, and sleep is as far away as it ever was.
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I don't say the other part out loud. The part where you get tired of having your stuff stolen, and you hide their shipments and trajectories. Space is really big. Easy to hide a flying barge in, with no big glowing drive flame to give it away. Unless somebody talks. And for the right money, someone always talks. So then you put trackers on it, and recording instruments. Which your thief then learns to knock out with an electromagnetic pulse from a deliberately misfired fusion drive. So then you send armed escorts, a nest of angry little wasps clinging to your payload, strong drives, modest fuel tanks, a railgun, and not much else. By this point, you're good and mad… escorts are expensive and they eat into profit margins. But what else can you do? It's not like we're on Earth and have governments to go pirate hunting for you. And even if there were… well, wait'll you hear about something they call “taxes.” At least I don't pretend to be your friend while I rob you.
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I'm just telling you that the game is rigged in your favor, and has been since the moment you all got your hands on alien tech that we don't and can't have. It's a monopoly that the so-called free market doesn't fix. Competitors can't duplicate Starlight's research, because there is no research to duplicate. They didn't invent anything. They just picked apart something that was already there, something we don't get to look at.
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“You're not a Belter… you grew up on Venus. You're barely over six feet tall. Like it or not, that makes you a Flatlander like me. And as for being working class, your father was a CEO, for heaven's sake.” “Princess, my dad had a pair of secondhand hulls and a work crew of like twenty-five dudes. Your family owns Arachne, Europa, half of Mars, the biggest shipbuilding company in existence, a big chunk of the Starlight Coalition, and who knows what else. We're not the same.” She does that thing she always does, cocking her head to one side like a kitten. “Of course we're not. I'm educated, intelligent, and attractive, and I don't smell like engine grease. That's not my point. What I'm asking is why you pretend to be one of them. They're losers.” “Princess, those losers are the reason you have air to breathe, water to drink, and steel to build your fancy habitats out of.” “And what do they get for it? Not much. Why do you keep on with all this 'Belter pride' stuff? It doesn't make sense.” “They—we—do something meaningful. Hard work that matters. You could maybe use a little bit of that in your life.” “And you could use a reality check. Life is a game with winners and losers. And here you are, trying to put on this… this loser aesthetic. It's tacky, and it doesn't do a thing for you.”