The transfer had been furtive and quick—high-g, short-burst burns that brought the Minsky and the Connaught together on an intercept with Ceres that kept away from the bulk of Marco’s forces.
When, a lifetime ago, Marco had chosen her to head the conscription arm of the Free Navy, he’d given her the smaller, lighter ships. Armed, certainly, but not built for heavy fighting. She was meant to outrun the vast, bulky ice haulers, converted now to colony ships: massive and easy to overwhelm. Marco and Rosenfeld, the war leaders against the inner planets, had more need of the capital ships. They were the sledgehammer, and she was the scalpel.
And now she was going to find out whether her plan to cut a path where the great Marco Inaros couldn’t reach her had worked, or if her rebellion was going to be short-lived and tragic.
The universe has plans for you, Josep said in her imagination. You couldn’t have come this far through so many dangers if there weren’t a reason for you to be here.
The same beautiful bullshit that everyone told themselves. That they were special. That they mattered. That some vast intelligence behind the curtains of reality cared what happened to them. And in all the history of the species, they’d all died anyway.
“Attention, unidentified warship. This is James Holden of the independent corvette Rocinante. We’re here to transfer possession of the Minsky. Hope that’s what brought you here too. I’d appreciate it if you’d identify.”
“Well, fuck,” Michio said.
“Captain?” Oksana said.
James Holden. Probably the most ambiguous man in the system. The Earther who worked for Fred Johnson’s OPA. The leader of the coup against Ashford back in the slow zone. The man Marco Inaros hated more than anyone else. Chosen envoy of the Martian Republic and the United Nations to Ilus, and everybody’s favorite pawn. If she’d had a dream that his voice would be the one greeting her, Josep would have called it a sign. Of what, she couldn’t guess.
Her display showed Ceres Station, the enemy ships arrayed around it like a cloud of insects waiting to attack. And all through the system, she was certain sensor arrays and optical telescopes were focused on her, on the Minsky, and on the ship coasting toward her.
Somewhere, Marco was seeing her with the chance to open fire on James Holden. If God had wanted to give her a way to walk back her rebellion, He couldn’t have made a better one. She had her ranging laser on him. Even if she died, even if they all died, the other ships in her command would have a chance to sneak back into the Free Navy’s fold. No more Witch of Endors. No more Munroes.
There are no coincidences, Josep said in her mind. Except of course there were.
“Captain, what are your orders?” Oksana asked.
“Open the connection.”
Oksana opened the comms, grunted at some small error, and passed the feed to Michio’s station. Holden was looking anxiously into the camera. The years had been kind to him. His face had a more comfortable look, and a touch of sorrow and humor that he wore well. She wondered if the others of his crew were still on the Rocinante with him or if he’d left Naomi Nagata someplace safely out of Marco’s reach.
“Rocinante, this is Michio Pa of the Connaught. Weird to see you again, Captain Holden.”
His lips widened into a boyish grin, and to her surprise, she found herself smiling back. It wasn’t pleasure, but the giddiness of fear. Her heart tapped at her ribs like it was impatient. Trying to get her attention. I could kill him. He could kill me. Either decision would be justified. The Rocinante had a rail gun. By the time she knew he’d fired, she’d already be dead. But he probably wouldn’t. And she probably wouldn’t either.
“Weird to see you too, Captain Pa. Strange times.”
She laughed, and it sounded like someone else. Evans looked at her, concern in his eyes. She ignored him.
“Couldn’t help noticing that you’ve got some ships pointing their guns at me,” she said lightly.
“People are nervous,” Holden said.
“Was sending you supposed to be symbolic of something?”
“Nope. We just drew the short straw.”
It was eerie, speaking to someone on the other side of the fight without so much as a stutter of light delay. She wanted to flip and burn hard, get out. Every second on the float brought her closer to Ceres and the consolidated fleet and Fred fucking Johnson. Every dot on the tactical display made her itch. They were the enemy as much as Marco. But the enemy of her enemy was at least playing nice right now.
No sudden moves. Nothing without warning. They could do this.
“We’re ready to transfer control of the Minsky to you,” she said. “Her passengers are all on board confined to their quarters. I’ll send along a manifest with what supplies she’s carrying.”
Holden nodded. “So. Nothing’s going to blow up when we do this, is it? No booby traps? Because there are some smart people who think I’m pretty stupid for trusting you.”
“Plenty on my side saying the same of me. Nothing either of us can say right now’s going to change their minds. We’ll just have to try this. See what happens.”
Oksana’s voice cut through the air like a wire. “I’ve got fast-movers coming in from Ceres! Six torpedoes. Fifty seconds to impact.”
The breath left Michio’s lungs, pushed out by fear so profound it felt like calm. Open fire, all guns. Get us out of here. Whatever they were going to do, she had to order it now.
Except she was looking at Holden, and he was surprised too. Shocked, even.
Angry.
She had to give the order. She had to fire. Her family was going to die. If she fired, they’d all fire back. She had to run. Burn hard. Melt everything behind her to slag.
Stop, she thought. If we die, we die, but right now, stop.
Why was Holden angry?
“Holden?” she said, her voice trembling. “Do we have a problem?”
“Fuck yes, you have my permission,” Holden snapped, and it took her a fraction of a second to realize he wasn’t speaking to her.
“The Rocinante’s firing its PDCs,” Oksana said, her voice high and sharp. Fear was a resonance tone, and the deck rang with it.
“Lighting up our PDCs,” Evans said.
“Don’t,” Michio shouted before she knew she was going to say it. Then, in the stunned silence, “Touch those fire controls, and you will kill us all. Do you understand, Mr. Evans? Everyone you love will die, and it will be your fault.” Her husband looked at her, confusion in his eyes. His fingers hovered over the controls, twitching toward them. If she’d shot him, he couldn’t have looked more betrayed. “Oksana, what is the Rocinante firing on?”
“No no no,” Holden said. “We’re getting them. Not you. You don’t think we’re—”
“They’re targeting the missiles from Ceres. Impact in… They’re done, sir. The Rocinante shot down the attack.”
Michio nodded. Her blood rattled in her veins. Her hands shook. She was aware of the panic in her mind like listening to voices in a nearby room, but she didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel anything.