Expanse: Nemesis Games Part 45

"Bobbie?" Naomi said.

"Hey," the Martian ex-marine shouted, grinning. The sound carried from suit to suit by the conduction, and it made her sound terribly distant for someone who was holding Naomi in her arms. "Imagine meeting you here, right?"

"I'd say it's really good to see you," Naomi shouted back, "but that seems weirdly understated. The ship! It's rigged to lose bottle containment if another ship sets off its proximity alert."

Bobbie scowled and nodded. Naomi saw the woman's mouth moving as she relayed the information to someone. To Alex. She watched Bobbie listen to something she couldn't hear. She looked older than the last time Naomi had seen her. She looked beautiful. Bobbie said something else into her mic, then pressed their faceplates together again.

"I'm going to start moving us around," Bobbie shouted. "We need to point our feet toward the sun. Low profile. Suck up less heat, okay?"

Naomi buzzed with questions that didn't need answers. "Okay," she shouted back.

"Are you in immediate medical distress?"

"Probably. It's been a really hard day."

"That's funny," Bobbie shouted in a voice that meant it wasn't funny. "Are you in immediate medical distress?"

"No. I don't think so."

"All right. Put your arms over my shoulders and lock your forearms." Bobbie pulled back a few centimeters and demonstrated the forearm lock. Naomi made the Belter sign that meant roughly Acknowledged and understood. A few seconds later, Bobbie's armor fired thrusters, and Naomi's weight came back. She was being lifted up, carried into the stars. The sun-bright drive plume of the Chetzemoka pa.s.sed them, dwarfing the small, dark box of the ship itself. It fell away toward the sun and slowly, over the course of long, eternal minutes, vanished below them.

They didn't fit in the pinnace. Not really. It was made for one, maybe two, and it had four with one of them in powered armor. The air was hot and thick, and the recyclers were starting to throw alerts and errors. Alex had shut down the reactor and switched to batteries so they wouldn't be generating as much heat.

"I mean, we could make a burn for it," Alex said, "but we got people coming from both directions and half as many crash couches as we've got folks."

He was in the one actual couch at the front of the pinnace. Bobbie sat curled near the mutilated deck where another couch had once been. The door to the cabin was open, and the prime minister of Mars floated there in a sweat-stained undershirt. He made the place seem dreamlike. For herself, Naomi floated near the ceiling. Alex had set the wall screens to show the outside, but it was all so much less vivid than the real thing. It didn't fool her.

The Chetzemoka was below them, a spinning black dot against the overwhelming white sun. She caught glimpses of it at the edges of the floor where the screen stopped. Alex had also had the Razorback's system highlight the incoming UN escort ships and, in blue, the Rocinante.

"So," Alex said. "XO. You're... ah. Out here. That was kind of unexpected."

"Wasn't thinking to see you either, Alex," Naomi said. Her blood felt strange in her veins. Sluggish and bright at the same time. And she was having trouble focusing her eyes. Her hands had lost the worst of the swelling, though. The hours of work between the hulls had probably worked all the extra fluid back in where it belonged. Something like that. Her entire body hurt, and she was still discovering how profound her nausea had been as layers of it she hadn't recognized resolved. Her twenty-second sunburn from the jump off the Pella was swollen and tender to the touch, but not blistered. It would peel once it had healed enough. When she'd gotten into the Razorback, and the ship had been sealed, she'd drunk a liter of water from a bulb and she hadn't had to pee yet. The dehydration headache was starting to lose its hold. Bobbie had offered her painkillers, but something in Naomi resisted the idea of doing anything else to her body until she'd seen the inside of a medical bay.

She realized that her consciousness had flickered out when it came back. Bobbie and the prime minister were talking about good noodle restaurants in the major neighborhoods of Londres Nova. The air was thick and close and stank of bodies. She was sweating in her c.r.a.ppy EVA suit. The blue dot that was the Rocinante had grown a halo, the drive pointing toward them as it slowed to match their course.

In the corner of her eye a blackness flickered and was gone.

"Alex," she said, and then coughed so long and hard Bobbie had to brace her. When her lungs were clearer, she tried again. "Alex. Can you spare a couple of those missiles?"

"Depends, XO," Alex said. "What did you want me to do with them?"

"Kill that ship," Naomi said.

"It's all right," Alex said. "We warned everyone about how it's b.o.o.by-trapped. No one's going to -"

"Not because of that. Just because it's time for it to go."

Because I tried to give it to my son instead of a childhood. Because I spent my own money to get it, and it turned into a trap for me and the people I love. Because everything about that ship was a mistake.

"Ah. Looks like it's registered to an Edward Slight Risk Abatement Cooperative. They going to be okay with us knocking their bird into the sun?"

"It'll be fine," Naomi said.

The prime minister lifted his finger. "It seems to me that -"

"Missiles away," Alex said, then smiled an apology. "You're the head of my government, Nate, but she's my XO."

"Nate?" Naomi said. "You're on a first-name basis now?"

"Don't be jealous," Alex said and pulled up a panel. Against the sun, the ship was nothing. A tiny darkness spinning below them like a fly. And then it was gone.

I'm sorry, Filip, she thought.

She turned her head toward the approaching Rocinante. It was closer.

Chapter Forty-eight: Holden.

If the medical bay could have raised its eyebrows and made judgmental little tsk-tsk sounds, it would have. Instead, the readout threw a list of amber-colored alerts so long that the first few scrolled off the screen before Holden could read them. Naomi grunted when the needle poked into her vein and the medical expert system's custom c.o.c.ktail started flowing into her. Holden sat beside her, holding her other hand.

The transfer from the Razorback had been easy enough. Once they'd matched course, Alex snugged the pinnace up against the airlock, and all four of them had come over together. Holden had been waiting on the other side of the lock, not quite willing to believe that they were really back. Fred Johnson was there too in his greeting-a-political-grandee outfit. It was strange to see Fred visibly change roles, holding his body differently, his expression changing so subtly and profoundly it seemed like the shape of his skull had shifted. It left Holden a little curious about how much the old man presented to him was also tailored to the situation. Chances were, he'd never know.

When the inner door cycled open, he'd forgotten about Fred and the prime minister of Mars and the destruction of Earth and pretty much everything that wasn't Naomi. Her skin was ashen where it didn't look slick and swollen from radiation burns. Her eyes were bloodshot and bleary with a profound exhaustion. Moving into the room, she was careful, like any unexpected b.u.mp would hurt. She was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in years. He felt like he was the one returning home now that she was here. When she saw him, she smiled, and he grinned back. Somewhere a few feet away or a few miles, Fred Johnson and Nathan Smith were making some kind of formal greeting. It didn't matter at all.

"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 s.h.i.tty 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 a.s.shole."

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 ent.i.tled 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 compet.i.tion, 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 s.h.i.t. 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 lemongra.s.s 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 ba.s.s 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 a.s.sist 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 cut 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...o...b..t 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."