Expanse: Nemesis Games Part 19

"Hey, hey, hey," Holden said. "Come on, you two. We're all on the same side here, right?"

"Not without terms," Monica said.

Fred's jaw went tight. "We just saved your life."

"Thanks for that," Monica said. "I'm included in the investigation. All of it. Exclusive interviews with both of you. I'll give you everything I have about the colony ships and my abduction. Even the parts I didn't tell Holden. And fair warning before I go public with any of this."

"Wait a minute," Holden said. "There were parts you didn't tell me?"

"Final approval before anything sees air," Fred said.

"Not a chance," Monica said. "And you need me."

"Final approval exclusively for issues of security and safety," Fred said. "And two weeks lead time."

Monica's eyes were bright and hungry. Holden had traveled with her for weeks going out to the Ring the first time, and he felt like he knew her. The ruthlessness in her expression was surprising. Fred only seemed amused by it.

"One week lead time, and nothing unreasonably withheld," she said and pointed an accusing finger at Fred. "I'm trusting you on that."

Fred looked to Holden, his smile thin and unamused. "Well, now I've got two people I know aren't working for the other side."

The thing Holden hadn't known- No, that wasn't true. The thing Holden had known, but hadn't appreciated, was the number of ships moving through the rings and out to the vast spread of new planets. Monica's full logs tracked the almost five hundred ships that had made the transit. Many were smaller even than the Rocinante, traveling together in groups to make a claim on a new and unknown world or else to join newly founded steadings on places with names like Paris and New Mars and Firdaws. Other ships were larger true colony ships loaded with the same kinds of supplies that, generations before, humanity had taken out to Luna, Mars, and the Jovian moons.

The first one to vanish had been the Sigyn. She'd been a converted water hauler a little newer than the Canterbury. Then the Highland Swing, a tiny rock hopper that had been nearly gutted to put in an Epstein drive with three times the power a ship like that could ever have used. The Rabia Balkhi that she'd shown him had the best footage of its transit, but it wasn't the first or the last to disappear. As he went through, he made note of the types and profiles of all the missing ships to forward on to Alex. The Pau Kant could be any of them.

There was another pattern to the vanishing too. The ships that went missing did so during times of high traffic when Medina Station's attention was stretched between five or six different ships. And afterward this was interesting the ring through which the missing ship had pa.s.sed showed not a spike in radiation but a discontinuity a moment when the background levels changed suddenly. It wasn't something that other transits seemed to have. Monica had interpreted it as evidence of alien technology doing something inscrutable and eerie. Knowing what they did now, it looked to Holden more like a glitch left over where the data had been doctored. Like switching the crate that Monica had been taken away in or vanishing into a men's room and never coming out, someone would have had to hide the "missing" ships coming back through the ring. If there was a similar glitch in the sensor data of the ring that led back to humanity's home system - "Holden?"

The security office around him was empty. Fred had cleared it for his "personal use" meaning as the center for his private investigation of how deeply he had been compromised. The security personnel Holden had walked past coming in seemed nonplussed to be turned out of their own offices, but no one had raised any objection. Or at least none that he'd heard.

Fred stood in the archway of the short hall that led to the interrogation rooms. He was in civilian clothes, well tailored. A scattering of white stubble dusted his chin and cheeks, and his eyes were bloodshot and the yellow of old ivory. His spine was stiff though, and his demeanor sharp enough to cut.

"Did you hear something?" Holden asked.

"I've had a conversation with an a.s.sociate of mine who I've known for a long time. Light delay always makes these things painfully slow, but... I have a better idea what I'm looking at. A start, anyway."

"Can you trust them?"

Fred's smile was weary. "If Anderson Dawes is against me, I'm screwed whatever I do."

"All right," Holden said. "So where do we start?"

"If I could borrow you for a few minutes," Fred said, nodding back toward the interrogation rooms.

"You want to question me?"

"More use you as a prop in a little play I'm putting on."

"Seriously?"

"If it works, it'll save us time."

Holden stood. "And if it doesn't?"

"Then it won't."

"Good enough."

The interrogation room was bare, cold, and unfriendly. A steel table bolted to the floor separated the single backless stool from three gel-cushioned chairs. Monica was already sitting in one. The cut on her face was looking much better little more than a long red welt. Without makeup, she looked harder. Older. It suited her. Fred gestured to the seat at the other side for Holden, then sat in the middle.

"Just look serious and let me do the talking," he said.

Holden caught Monica's gaze and lifted his eyebrows. What is this? She cracked a thin smile. Guess we'll find out.

The door opened, and Drummer walked in. Sakai followed her. The chief engineer's gaze flickered from Holden to Monica and back. Drummer guided him to a stool.

"Thank you," Fred said. Drummer nodded and walked tightly out of the room. She might have been p.i.s.sed at being kept out of the proceedings. Or maybe it was something else. Holden could see how something like this could lead to crippling paranoia pretty quickly.

Fred sighed. When he spoke, his voice was soft and warm as flannel. "So. I think you know what this is about."

Sakai opened his mouth, shut it. And then it was like watching a mask fall away. His features settled into an image of perfect, burning hatred.

"You know what?" Sakai said. "f.u.c.k you."

Fred sat still, his expression set. It was like he hadn't heard the words at all. Sakai clenched his jaw and scowled at the silence until the pressure built up and it became too much to bear.

"You arrogant f.u.c.king Earthers. All of you. Out here in the Belt leading the poor skinnies to salvation? Is that who you think you are? Do you have any idea how f.u.c.king patronizing you are? All of you. All of you. The Belt doesn't need Earther b.i.t.c.hes like you to save us. We save ourselves, and you a.s.sholes can pay for it, yeah?"

Holden felt a flush of anger rising in his chest, but Fred's voice was calm and soft.

"I'm hearing you say you resent me for being from Earth. Am I getting that right?"

Sakai leaned back on the stool, caught his balance, then turned and spat on the decking. Fred waited again, but this time Sakai let the silence stretch. After a few moments Fred shrugged, then sighed and stood up. When he leaned forward and hit Sakai it was such a simple, pedestrian movement, Holden wasn't even shocked until Sakai fell over. Blood poured down the engineer's lip.

"I have given up my life and the lives of people I care for a h.e.l.l of a lot more than you to protect and defend the Belt," Fred growled. "And I am not in the mood to have some jumped-up terrorist piece of s.h.i.t tell me different."

"I'm not scared of you," Sakai said in a voice that made it very clear to Holden he was desperately scared. Holden was a little unnerved himself. He'd seen Fred Johnson angry before, but the white-hot rage radiating from the man now was another thing entirely. Fred's eyes didn't flicker. This was the man who had led armies and ma.s.sacred thousands. The killer. Sakai shrank from his pitiless regard like it was a physical blow.

"Drummer!"

The head of security opened the door and stepped in. If she was surprised, it didn't show in her face. Fred didn't look at her.

"Mister Drummer, take this piece of s.h.i.t to the brig. Put him in an isolation cell, and be sure he gets enough kibble and water that he doesn't die. No one in, no one out. And I want a complete audit of his station presence. Who he's talked to. Who he's traded messages with. How often he's taken a s.h.i.t. Everything goes through code a.n.a.lysis."

"Yes, sir," Drummer said, paused. And then, "Should I take the station off lockdown?"

"No," Fred said.

"Yes, sir," Drummer repeated, and then helped Sakai to his feet and ushered him out the door. Holden cleared his throat.

"We need to double-check the work on the Rocinante," he said, "because there's no way I'm flying something that guy did the safety inspections for."

Monica whistled low.

"Schismatic OPA faction?" she said. "Well. It wouldn't be the first time a revolutionary leader was targeted by the extreme wing of his own side."

"It wouldn't," Fred agreed. "What bothers me is that they're feeling secure enough to tip their hand."

Chapter Nineteen: Naomi.

The beer was vat-brewed: rich and yeasty with a little fungal aftertaste where the hops had been cut with engineered mushrooms. Karal was making hot-plate cousa: thin, unleavened cracker bread heavy with gum roux and hot onion. With Cyn and Naomi and a new man named Miral sharing air with Karal and the hot plate both, the recyclers were working near their top rate for the s.p.a.ce. The heat and the spiced air, the closeness of bodies and the just-buzzed relaxation of the alcohol felt like falling backward through time. Like if she opened the door, it wouldn't be the dockside grunge of Ceres Station but Rokku's ship burning for the next claim or the next port.

"So Josie," Cyn said, waving one vast palm. He paused and turned a scowl to Naomi. "Kennst Josie?"

"I remember which one he is," Naomi said.

"Yeah, so Josie sets up shop there, sa sa? Start charging the Earthers to go down the corridor. Calls it..." Cyn snapped three times, trying to call up the story's punch line "calls it a munic.i.p.al tollway. Tollway!"

"And how long did that last?" Naomi asked.

"Long enough we had to get off station before security grabbed us," Cyn said around a grin. Then he grew sober. "That was before, though."

"Before," Naomi agreed, lifting her gla.s.s. "Everything changed after Eros."

"Everything changed after the f.u.c.kers killed the Cant," Miral said, eyes narrowed at Naomi as if to say That was your ship, wasn't it? Another invitation for her to tell her stories.

She leaned forward a degree, hiding behind the veil of her hair. "Everything changed after Metis Base. Everything changed after Anderson Station. Everything changed after Terryon Lock. Everything changed after everything."

"Ez maldecido igaz," Cyn said, nodding. "Everything changed after everything."

Karal looked up. His expression was a mix of camaraderie and regret that meant Everything changed after the Gamarra.

Naomi smiled back. It had, and she was sorry too. Being here, with these men, brought up a kind of nostalgia that seeped into everything. All of them would have liked her to tell her stories being on Eros, riding the first ship through the gate, trekking out to the first colony on the new worlds. Cyn and Karal wouldn't ask, and so the new one followed their lead. And she kept her own counsel.

Filip was asleep in the next room, his body curled into a comma, his eyes merely closed. They weren't the profoundly shut eyes of a sleeping baby. The rest of the cell were in other safe houses. Smaller groups drew less attention, and even if they lost one group, the rest could go on. It wasn't something anyone had said. The strategy was familiar and strange at the same time, like a once-favorite song heard again after years of being forgotten. Karal scooped up the cousa, lifting it off the heating element and spinning it on his fingertips in the same motion. Naomi held out her hand, and he set the cracker down on her palm, their fingers brushing against each other. The simple physical intimacy of close companionship. Of family. It had been true once, and that it was less true now was forgiven by the fact that they all knew it wasn't what it had been. Since she'd arrived, they'd all been careful not to let conversation stray into anything that put too fine a point on the gap of years she'd been absent.

And so when she broke the unspoken covenant, they would know she'd meant to. And as much as she didn't want to undo the fragile moment, the only thing worse than talking about it was leaving it all unsaid.

"Filip is looking well," she said, as if the words carried no extra significance. She bit the cracker, roux and onion flooding her tongue and the back of her nose with salt and sweet and bitter. She talked around it. "He's grown."

"Has," Cyn said, his voice cautious.

Naomi felt years of grief and anger, loss and betrayal at the back of her throat. She smiled. Her voice didn't waver. "How's he been?"

Cyn's glance at Karal was nothing, a flicker almost too fast to notice. They were in dangerous territory now. She didn't know if they were looking to protect her from the truth or Filip and Marco from her. Or if they only didn't want a part of the drama that had been and still was her old lover and their son.

"Filipito's been good," Karal said. "Smart boy, and focused. Ser focused. Marco seen after him. Kept him safe."

"Safe as any of us ever are," Miral said, trying to make the words light. The hunger of curiosity was in the man's expression. He hadn't been there when Naomi and Marco had been together. It was like the rest of them were having a conversation, and half the words Miral couldn't hear.

"Que a mi?" Naomi asked.

"We all told him the truth," Karal said, a hardness coming into his voice. "Not going to lie to our own."

Cyn coughed once. He looked at her sideways, like a guilty dog. "When he got old enough to ask, him, Marco tells him how things got harsh. Too harsh. His mother, she needed to step away from it. Put ellas kappa together."

"Ah," Naomi said. So that was the story of who she was. The one who'd been too sensitive. Too weak. From where Marco sat, it might even look like the truth.

But then what must it have been to see who she'd become? XO of the Rocinante, survivor of Eros Station, traveler to new worlds. Looked at that way, "too harsh" was a strange thing. Unless it meant she just didn't love her son enough to stay. Unless what she'd run from was him.

"Filipito, he's solid," Cyn said. "Be proud of him."

"Nothing but," Naomi said.

"So," Miral said, his voice fighting and failing for casual. "You ship sui James Holden, yeah? What's that like?"

"Steady work. No room for promotion," Naomi said, and Cyn laughed. After a moment, Miral joined in ruefully. Only Karal kept quiet, and that might only have been from concentrating on the hot plate.

Naomi's hand terminal chimed. She picked it up. Two more messages from Jim. Her fingertip was a centimeter from the b.u.t.ton to accept them. His voice was a few small movements away, and the thought pulled at her like a magnet. Hearing him now, even just his recorded voice, would be like taking a long shower in clean water. She pushed the messages into her hold queue. Soon, and then all of them. But if she started now, she wouldn't stop, and she wasn't done yet. Instead, she put in a connection request to the address the Outer Fringe Exports representative had given her. A few seconds later, the connection hiccupped to life, a red border marking that the channel was secure.

"Ms. Nagata," the young man said. "How can I help you today?"

"Waiting on the ship," she said. "Need to know where we stand."

The man's eyes unfocused for a moment, then his smile sharpened. "We're waiting for the t.i.tle transfer to update in the base registry, ma'am."

"So the payment's gone through?"

"Yes. If you'd like, you can take possession now, but please be aware you can't be cleared to leave port until the registry updates."

"That's fine," she said, getting to her feet. "Where's she berthed?"

"Dock six, berth nineteen, ma'am. Would you like a representative present for the handover?"

"No," she said. "Just leave the keys in the ignition, and we can take it from here."

"Of course. It's been a pleasure."

"Likewise," Naomi said. "Have a better one."

She dropped the connection. Cyn and Miral were already gathering their few things. Karal scooped up the last cousa from the hot plate with one hand and unplugged it with the other. She didn't need to tell them to alert the others. Cyn was already doing it. Without changing, the air in the room felt suddenly too thick, the heat from the hot plate and their bodies too oppressive. Naomi stepped through the doorway.