The Callisto Gambit Read Online Free PDF Page A

knocked down one of the trees—they were not very deeply rooted—before they dragged him out of the mecha’s cradle.
    “That’s enough,” Brian said. “That’s enough now.”
    Michael screamed and wept. He scrambled towards the mecha. Brian blocked his way. He hit and kicked Brian until one of the other men knocked his feet out from under him. After that he lay on the grass, smelling earth where his mecha’s feet had torn up divots. He kicked anyone who tried to approach him. He tore up more grass, ripping his fingernails, not caring.
    “He’s got an autism spectrum disorder,” said the distant voice of Kelp. “He has an implant to manage it, but we were on the road for more than four months. I think he’s probably run out of meds.”
    “Gotcha.” Another familiar voice, deep and strong. Michael recognized the Voice—the man who’d hailed the Kharbage Collector during their approach, telling them to frag off. Now the Voice came closer. “Kid. What do you need? Risperidone, thioridazine, something like that? Lithium? SSRIs?”
    Michael realized in the midst of his distress that the question was important. “Lithium,” he choked out. “And clonidine. Just a low dose.”
    “Good. We’ve got those.”
    Michael peered up through tear-swollen eyes. It was not the promise of meds that diverted him from crying, but the Voice itself. Its owner turned out to be a powerfully built man in late middle age, sitting on his heels beside Michael. He had a spectacular beard and a shaggy mop of hair to match. Nose like an ice hatchet. Shoulders like a pro wrestler. He looked very different from Michael’s father, who was built like a sofa, but an impression of similarity lingered. It was in the voice. Authority—and warmth: the twin characteristics of a man who was always in control.
    The man’s dark eyes twinkled, nested in creases above the graying tideline of his beard. “So this is the boy who nearly crashed his spaceship into us … and followed that up by crashing the welcome party for my Caledonians.”
    “I want my ship back,” Michael said.
    “Yes, that situation needs to be dealt with.” A climactic fanfare of music screeched from the stone building. “I think I can safely miss this party,” the man said wryly.
    “Is that building really made of stone?” Michael said.
    “Of course not. Aerogel blocks.”
    “That’s what I thought.”
    The man leaned over and pulled Michael up into a sitting position. Michael scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands. He snuck a glance over the man’s shoulder, and saw his mecha standing under the trees, guarded by several of Brian’s Irishmen. It reassured him to see they hadn’t taken it away.
    “Autism is very rare nowadays,” the man said. “Was there some reason your parents didn’t have you fixed before you were born?”
    Michael laughed. “I was fixed before I was born. They had my IQ enhanced at one of those illegal labs on Ganymede. It turned out to come with side effects. Why do you know about it?”
    “I’ve a theory that autism and genius go hand in hand. As a matter of fact, I was diagnosed myself as a child. I grew out of it, but I can still remember what it felt like.”
    “Wow.” Michael’s eyes widened. He’d never met anyone else on the spectrum.
    “Parents can’t cope with you? Sent you off to school, and then the school kicked you out too?” Michael nodded, and the man nodded with him. “Zygmunt, get my suit,” he called.
    Haddock pushed forward. Next to the boss, he looked even more untrustworthy than usual. “If you’ve no objection, sir,” he whined, “we’d like to come with you. Myself and my lad.”
    Kelp hung between his mother and uncle, his face an unhealthy shade of beige, his breathing labored. The gravity down here was close to one full gee. Kelp was spaceborn—born and raised in zero-gee, his limbs as long and thin as pieces of string, his head too large for his frail torso. He was in trouble. Michael