Expanse 05 - Nemesis Games

  “Hey,” he’d said.

  “Hey. You take care of the place while I was out?”

  “Had some trouble with the contractor, but I think we got it straightened out,” Holden said. Then Bobbie had put a wide, strong hand on his shoulder, shaken him slightly, and said, “Med bay.” And then Naomi headed for the lift, leaning against Alex for support. She looked wounded, exhausted, halfway to dead. But she’d seen him, and she’d smiled, and it had dropped the bottom out of his heart.

  The alert sounded, counted down, and gravity came back. Naomi coughed. It was a wet, painful sound, but the medical bay didn’t seem concerned. The machine had a shitty bedside manner.

  “Do you think we should get a medic?” Holden said. “Maybe we should get a medic.”

  “Right now?” Naomi asked.

  “Or later. For your birthday. Whenever.” The words tumbled out of his mouth without stopping by his brain once, and he didn’t care enough to rein them in. Naomi was back. She was here. A vast fear he’d been carefully not noticing washed over him and started to dissipate.

  This was how she felt, he thought. With the Agatha King and when he’d headed off to the station in the slow zone. When he’d gone down to the surface of Ilus. All the times he’d thought he was protecting her from his risks, this was what he’d been doing to her. “Wow,” he said. “I’m kind of an asshole.”

  She opened her eyes in two bright slits and made a small smile. “Did I miss something?”

  “Sort of. I just went someplace for a minute, and I’m back now. And so are you, which is really, really good.”

  “Nice to be home.”

  “But while you were… I mean while we were… Look, when I was back on Tycho, I was talking with Monica. And Fred. I mean I was talking to Fred about you and us and what I was entitled to know and why I thought all that. And Monica was talking about why I lied and whether what she did had any power and how it was ethical and responsible to use it. And I was thinking —”

  Naomi raised her hand, palm out. Her forehead creased. “If you’re about to tell me you had an affair with Monica Stuart, this may not be the best time.”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “Good.”

  “It’s just I’ve been thinking. About a lot of different things, really. And I wanted you to know that whatever you were doing and going through that you didn’t want me to be a part of? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m really curious, and I want to know. But whatever it was, it’s only my business if you want it to be my business.”

  “All right,” she said, and closed her eyes again.

  Holden stroked her hand. The knuckles were raw, and there was a bruise on her wrist.

  “So when you say ‘all right’ —”

  “I mean I missed you too, and I’m glad I’m back, and could you go get me a bulb of green tea or something?”

  “Yes,” Holden said. “Yes, I can.”

  “Don’t hurry,” she said. “I may just take a little nap.”

  Holden paused at the hatch, looking back. Naomi was watching him go. Her eyes were tired, her body stilled by exhaustion, but she was smiling a little. It helped to see that she was glad to be back.

  In the galley, a half-dozen voices were in competition, gabbling one above the other toward a kind of symphonic shared excitement. It sounded like he felt. Holden ducked in. Alex was sitting on one of the tables with his feet on the bench, talking to Chava Lombaugh and Sun-yi Steinberg, describing something about fast-cycling targeting stutter and acceleration. Chava was talking at the same time, her hands in motion, presenting some physical description of whatever they were on about. Sun-yi was just looking from one to the other, amused. At the next table over, Bobbie Draper was sitting down, but still looming over Sandra Ip and Maura Patel. Bobbie had swapped her powered armor for a slightly-too-small jumpsuit with TACHI stenciled on the back. She caught his eye, smiled, and waved. He waved back, but Sandra Ip had already recaptured her attention, and Bobbie was shaking her head and answering a question he hadn’t heard.

  Holden had the sudden, visceral memory of being at home with his family, eight parents sitting down to dinner together with their one son, having half a dozen conversations with and past each other. Even though he recognized he was already primed for it, the sense of peace and well-being that washed over him was profound. This was what family looked like, sounded like, how they acted. Even the new crew who he’d been trying not to resent felt more like distant cousins who’d come for a long visit than interlopers.

  Alex hopped down and came over to him, grinning. They stood for a long, awkward moment before they gave in and embraced, clapping each other on the back and laughing.

  “No more leave,” Holden said.

  “Holy shit. Right?” Alex said. “I take off for a few weeks, and everything turns into chaos.”

  “It really, really does.” Holden went to the coffee maker and Alex followed at his elbow. “I think this has to qualify for the worst vacation ever.”

  “How’s Naomi doing?”

  Holden picked out the tea that Naomi liked best. The machine chimed calmly. “Getting hydrated mostly. She sent me off to get her a drink, but I think she actually wanted me to stop hovering over her, trying to start a conversation.”

  “She may take a little time getting back to full power.”

  “Intellectually, I know that,” Holden said, picking up the bulb of tea. It smelled of lemongrass and mint even though there was nothing anywhere on the ship that was remotely like either one. Holden grinned. “Chemistry is amazing, you know? It’s really, really amazing.”

  “Any word from Amos?” Alex said, and his smile dimmed at the answer in Holden’s eyes. He tried to force the carefree tone back into his voice when he spoke, but Holden wasn’t fooled. “Well, that doesn’t mean much. It won’t be the first time a planet’s blown up on him.”

  “They’re starting to get confirmed death lists,” Holden said. “It’s still early. A lot of things still falling apart down there, and there’s going to be a lot more bad before it sees better. But he’s not on the list yet.”

  “So that’s good. And c’mon. It’s Amos. Everyone on Earth dies, and he’ll probably stack the bodies and climb up to Luna.”

  “Last man standing,” Holden said, but he headed back to the medical bay with his heart a little less buoyant. Naomi was gone, the needle that had been in her arm resting on the gel of the bed and the expert system gently prompting someone to intervene. Holden, the bulb of tea in his hand, checked the head and the galley before he thought to go back to the crew quarters.

  She was on their bed, her knees curled up toward her chest, her eyes closed, her hair spilling over the gel. She snored a little, soft animal sounds of peace and contentment. Holden put the tea on the desk beside her so that it would be there waiting when she woke.

  The ops deck was quiet, relatively speaking. Gor Droga, one of the weapons techs, was at a workstation, monitoring the ship and listening to something that had a beat on headphones. All Holden could hear of it was a slightly shifting bass line and an occasional phrase or two when Gor was moved to sing along. The lyrics were in something close to French without actually being French.

  The lights were low, most of the illumination coming from the monitors. Holden didn’t have a pair of headphones close to hand, so he just kept the volume low and watched Monica Stuart being interviewed. The man she was talking to was based on an L5 station, but the transmission gaps had all been edited out to make it seem like they were in the same room.

  “No, it doesn’t surprise me at all that the OPA would assist in escorting Prime Minister Smith. Fred Johnson has been vocal and active for years in bringing the OPA into the diplomatic discussion, often against resistance from the inner planets. If anything, I think there’s a real irony in the fact that this series of attacks by the Free Navy have been the catalyst to cementing the OPA’s legitimacy with Earth and Mars.”

  The camera c
ut to the interviewer. “So you don’t see the Free Navy as a part of the OPA?”

  And back to Monica. Holden chuckled. She’d changed her blouse between questions. He wondered what the lag had been like before it got edited down for the feed. “Not at all. The Free Navy is interesting in part because it gives the radical fringe of the OPA a different banner to raise. It represents a sort of self-selected culling of the elements that have kept the Belt from being better respected by the inner planets. And keep in mind, Mars and Earth weren’t the only targets of the Free Navy’s coup. Tycho Station is as big a success story as Ceres for Belters, and it was attacked too.”

  “Other pundits are calling that a changing of the guard within the OPA, though. Why do you see it as something external?”

  Monica nodded sagely. It was a well-practiced motion, and it worked to make her seem intelligent and thoughtful but still approachable. There was an artistry in what she did.

  “Well, Michael, sometimes when we make these distinctions, we’re really creating them more than describing anything that’s already there. We’re seeing a very broad realignment on more than one side. It seems clear that elements in the Martian military have been involved with supplying the Free Navy, and also that Prime Minister Smith was their target. So would we call that a rogue element on Mars, or an internal power struggle? In fact, I think the best description we can probably make at this point isn’t in terms of UN and Martian Republic and OPA, but the traditional system being brought together in the face of this new threat. This situation grows out of a deep history of conflict, but there are new lines being drawn here.”

  Fred chuckled. Holden hadn’t heard him come up, but there he was, looking over Holden’s shoulder. Holden paused the feed as Fred took a couch across from him.

  “You can always tell your media relations team is doing their job when the journalists are down to interviewing each other,” Fred said.

  “I think she’s doing good work,” Holden said. “She’s at least trying to put this all in a context where it makes sense.”

  “She’s also rebranding herself as an expert on me personally. And you, for that matter.”

  “Okay, that is a little weird. Any other news I should know about?”

  Fred glanced over at Gor, scowled, then leaned over and tapped the man’s shoulder. Gor took off the headphones.

  “Take a break,” Fred said. “We’ll make sure she’s solid.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gor said. “Be aware that this close to the corona, we’re building up a little heat.”

  “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

  Gor unstrapped and slid down the ladder. Fred watched him go with a wistful smile. “I remember when I could take a ladder that way. Been a few years, though.”

  “I don’t anymore either.”

  “Thus does age make cowards of us all. Or maybe that’s conscience,” Fred said, and heaved a sigh. “Inaros and his ships haven’t made it as far as Saturn’s orbit yet, and piracy in the outer planets is spiking. The colony ships are well supplied, under-armed, and there are a lot of them.”

  “They weren’t expecting a civil war.”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Well. Maybe. I’ve been talking to Smith. I don’t suppose Alex and Bobbie overheard much of what he was doing on the Razorback?”

  Holden leaned forward. “I don’t think they were spying on him, no. Were you thinking they would?”

  “I was hoping your man might have. This Draper woman’s too much the patriot. So, without outside confirmation, Smith’s story is that there’s a breakdown in the naval command. Might just be that someone’s been selling a great chunk of their ordnance to Inaros. Might be there was another actor who was willing to swap out.”

  “For the protomolecule,” Holden said. “That was the price of all this, wasn’t it?”

  “No one knows it’s missing aside from you, me, Drummer’s men, and whoever took it. I’ll keep it quiet as long as I can, but when we get to Luna, I think I have to tell Smith and Avasarala.”

  “Of course you do,” Holden said. “Why wouldn’t you tell them?”

  Fred blinked. His laugh, when it came, was deep and rolling. It came up from his belly and filled the air. “Just when I think you’ve changed, you come out with something that is uniquely James Holden. I don’t know what to think about you. I really don’t.”

  “Thanks?”

  “Welcome,” Fred said. And a moment later, “There are ships burning for the gates. Martian military ships. It would help me a great deal to know if they answered to Inaros or to someone else.”

  “Like the one who got the protomolecule sample?”

  “Anyone, really. I want to talk to Nagata.”

  The atmosphere between them went cool. “You want to interrogate her.”

  “I do.”

  “And you’re asking my permission?”

  “It seemed polite.”

  “I’ll talk to her about it when she’s recovered a little more,” Holden said.

  “Couldn’t ask for anything more,” Fred said, heaving himself to his feet. At the edge of the ladder, he paused. Holden watched him consider sliding down the sides the way Gor had. He watched Fred decide not to. Rung by rung, Fred climbed down out of the ops deck, shutting the hatch behind him. Holden turned the feed back on, and then off again. His head felt filled with cotton.

  He’d been so focused for so long on distracting himself from Naomi’s absence, now she was back, he felt almost overwhelmed. Monica was right. Things had changed, and he didn’t know anymore what his place was in them. Even if he turned away from Fred and Avasarala and the politics of his own minor celebrity, what could an independent ship do in this new, remade solar system? Were there banks that would be able to pay him if he took a job flying cargo to the Jovian moons? And the colonists that had already gone through the rings to new, alien worlds? Would the Free Navy really stop resupply from getting out to them, and the raw materials and discoveries they made from getting back?

  More than anything, the attacks seemed inevitable and petty. If the inner planets hadn’t spent generations showing the Belters that they were disposable, there might have been some way… some way to adapt their skills and lifestyles into this larger human expansion. A way to draw all humanity forward, and not just part of it.

  And how long would Inaros and people like him really be able to keep the flood of colonists out? Or maybe there was still something more, some layer of the plan that they hadn’t seen yet? The idea filled him with something he decided to call dread because that was a better name than fear.

  The monitor chimed. Alex, requesting a connection. Holden accepted it gratefully.

  “Hey there, Cap’n,” Alex said through a grin. “How’re you doing?”

  “Fine, I think. Just killing some time away from the cabin so I don’t wake Naomi up. I figure she’ll be asleep for twelve, fourteen hours.”

  “You’re a good man,” Alex said.

  “You?”

  “I’ve been showin’ your temporary pilot all the ways he could have beaten me to the Chetzemoka if he’d thought of them.”

  “Be nice,” Holden said, but he didn’t really mean it. “Where are you? I’ll come join you.”

  “Engineering,” Alex said. “Which was part of why I wanted to talk to you. I just got some good news from Luna.”

  Chapter Forty-nine: Amos

  Loading mechs moved pallets of gray or white plastic crates along the length of the Aldrin docks and drowned out the jabber of human voices with the clanks and whirring of machines. Stokes and the other refugees from Rattlesnake Island were in a huddle along one gray wall, trying to only block the cart traffic a little bit while a civil servant with an oversized terminal processed them one at a time. The security force in black armor stood arrayed before the lock to the Zhang Guo, scowling. The wall screen was set to look outside at that truck-tire gray moonscape.

  Chrisjen Avasarala’s red
sari stood out, a vibrant spot of color, and her voice cut through the clamor like it wasn’t there.

  “What the fuck do you mean we can’t go on the ship?” she said.

  “No warrant,” Amos said. “Nobody’s getting on my boat here without a warrant.”

  Avasarala tilted her head, then looked at the woman in charge of the security squad.

  “Seeing that you and he seemed to have an understanding, ma’am,” the security chief said, “I didn’t want to press the point.”

  Avasarala waved her hand impatiently like she was fanning away smoke. “Burton, for one thing, that’s not your fucking ship.”

  “Sure it is,” Amos said. “Salvage.”

  “No. When you break into someone’s private hangar and drive out in their ship, it’s not salvage. That’s still theft.”

  “You sure about that? Because it was looking awfully busted up down there. I’m pretty sure that was salvage.”

  “For another thing, we’re under martial law, so I can do very nearly whatever the fuck I want. Including march through your precious little ship there towing you along behind in a ball gag and lacy underwear. So your warrant bullshit? You can roll that up and fuck it. Now tell me why I’m here.”

  “You know just ’cause you can do something, it doesn’t mean you should. I don’t look great in frills.”

  She crossed her arms. “Why am I here, Amos?”

  Amos scratched his cheek and looked back at the Zhang Guo. Stokes and the servants were all out, but Erich and Peaches and the crew from Baltimore were all still inside. Some of them, including Erich, were either living under fake identities or weren’t in the system at all.

  “Here’s the thing,” Amos said. “If you did go in there, you might feel like you had to do something. And then I might feel like I had to do something. And then we’d all be doing things, and we’d all wind up having a worse day, just in general.”