“Finally! Now you need to tell these goons—”
Before she could finish or Holden could respond, the rest of the crowd started shouting at him all at once. Holden could hear snatches of their demands: that he drive off RCE, that he give them food or medicine or money, that he let them sell their lithium, that he prove that the colony had nothing to do with the disappearance of the security officers.
As Holden tried to quiet the mob, an older man in an RCE security uniform strolled slowly toward him, the rest of the corporate security people following in a wide V, like a flock of geese.
“Please, stop. I’ll hear out each and every one of your requests once we get settled in. But we can’t do anything if you all yell at—”
“Chief Murtry,” the RCE man said, moving through the crowd like it wasn’t there, sticking his hand out and smiling. “Royal Charter Energy, head of expedition security.”
Holden shook his hand. “Jim Holden. Joint UN/OPA mediator.”
The crowd hushed and moved away, creating a small circle of calm with Holden and Murtry at its center.
“Those were your people that disappeared,” Holden continued.
“They got murdered,” Murtry corrected him, not losing his smile. The man made Holden think of a shark. All bared teeth and cold black eyes.
“My understanding is that that was not proven.”
“It’s true they cleaned up the scene. But I have no doubt.”
“Until I have no doubt, no punitive action is to be taken,” Holden said. He felt Amos move up closer behind him, a silent threat.
Murtry’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re the boss.”
“Mediator,” Holden said, his tone letting Murtry know that as far as he was concerned, it meant the same thing.
Murtry nodded and spat to one side.
“Sure.”
The dam broke, and the crowd rushed back in toward them, a tall woman pushing her way to the front. She jabbed her hand at Holden in an angry demand for a handshake. If Murtry had gotten one, she was going to get one too.
“Carol Chiwewe, colony coordinator,” she said giving his hand two firm pumps. So that first woman had to have been someone else.
“Hello, madam coordinator,” Holden started.
“This man,” she continued, stabbing her fingers at Murtry, “is threatening us with martial law! He claims that the charter gives RCE the right to—”
“Enforce the laws of the UN charter, and keep the peace,” Murtry said, somehow managing to talk over the top of her without raising his voice.
“Keep the peace?” Carol said. “You gave your people a shoot-first directive!”
The crowd rumbled in disapproval at this, and the shouting started up again. Holden waved his arms to calm them back down. He hoped it looked more dignified and commanding than it felt. When Murtry spoke, his voice was calm but hard.
“I have a hard time seeing how we’d be shooting first. Everybody that’s died so far, your people killed. I won’t tolerate any further threats against RCE employees or property.”
A tall man with the large cranium of someone raised in the Belt pushed his way to the front. “Sounds like a threat right there, mate.”
“Coop, please, don’t make this worse,” Carol said with a resigned sigh. Ah, Coop is a troublemaker, Holden thought, making a note to remember the face.
“Just seems to me,” Coop said, turning to look back at the mob with a grin, raising his voice to play to the crowd. “Just seems to me that the only one making threats right now is you.”
The crowd rumbled encouragement, and Coop grinned from ear to ear, enjoying the power that came from giving the mob a voice.
Murtry nodded at him, still smiling. “There isn’t anything I won’t do to protect the lives of my team, that’s true. And we’ve lost too many already to take further chances.”
“Hey, don’t blame us, mate, if you can’t keep track of your people.” Someone in the crowd laughed.
“Don’t worry,” Murtry said, his smile still didn’t change, but he stepped in close to Coop. “I’ll find out what happened to them.”
“Maybe you should be careful,” Coop said, looking down at the shorter man, his grin turning feral. “Or, you know, it might happen to you too.”
“That,” Murtry said, drawing his gun, “was definitely a threat.”
He shot Coop in the right eye. The Belter man went limp and dropped like a machine that had been unplugged. Holden’s own gun was in his hand and pointed at Murtry even before he fully processed what had just happened. Amos stepped up next to him, his pistol trained on the RCE security chief. The entire RCE team pulled weapons and aimed them back at Holden. The crowd was deathly silent.
“What the hell!” Holden said. “I just said no punitive action. I mean, I just said that.”
“You did. That wasn’t punitive action, it was a response to a direct verbal threat.” Murtry put his pistol away and turned back to Holden. “We’ve established martial law here, under article 71 of the UN charter for exploration of this world. Any threat to RCE personnel will be dealt with swiftly and with prejudice.”
He stared at Holden for several long seconds, then said, “Might should put your gun away, Captain.”
Amos took a half step forward, but Holden put a hand on his arm. “Put it away, Amos.” He holstered his own gun, and a second later the RCE team did the same.
“I’m glad we could establish this working rapport so quickly. I’d recommend you get settled in,” Murtry said. “I’ll come by for a visit later.”
The coordinator had set aside rooms for Holden and Amos in the large, boxy prefab warehouse structure that had been converted into a combination of general store, commissary, and pub. The rooms in back were furnished with a cot, a table, and a water basin for washing.
“They gave us the presidential suite, I see,” Amos said, dumping his bags on the floor of his tiny room. “I need a drink.”
“Give me a second,” Holden said, then went into his own room and called up to the Rocinante. He delivered a full report of the landing and the shooting of Coop. Naomi promised to beam it back to Fred and Avasarala for him, and told him to be careful.
The bar, such as it was, consisted of four shaky card tables and twenty or so chairs scattered near the commissary corner of the building. Amos was waiting with two bottles of beer when Holden finished up his report.
“That went well.”
“Get the feeling we may be in over our heads here?” Amos asked after a few companionable sips of beer.
“Feels about normal to me,” Holden replied.
“Yep.”
They were on their second beer each when Murtry arrived. He talked to the bartender for a minute, then sat down across from Holden and put a bottle of whiskey and three glasses on the table.
“Have a drink with me, Captain,” he said, pouring out three shots.
“You’re going to go to prison for what you did today,” Holden said, then tossed back his shot. The whiskey had the sour moldy taste of Belter distillations. “I plan to make sure of that.”
Murtry shrugged. “Maybe. My plan is to make sure all my people survive long enough for prison to be an issue. I’ve lost almost twenty now, between the attack on the shuttle and the murder of my ground team. I won’t lose any more.”
“You’re a corporate security detail. You don’t get to declare martial law and shoot people who don’t cooperate. I wouldn’t put up with that from legitimate governments, much less a rent-a-cop like you.” Holden poured himself another drink and sipped at it.
“What’s the name of this planet?”