She knew it wasn’t fair or even really accurate. Her frustration was leaking out as tribalism and spite. Which was why she hadn’t responded yet, even though as the de facto leader of the underground, she had to. What she really wanted to do was put a camera on Jim and have him give one of his heartfelt little sermons about how they were all one people, and that by pulling together, they’d get to the other side of their struggles. It was his genius that he could still believe that, even after everything they’d seen and been through.
But she’d just gotten him back. If she let herself get into the habit of seeing him as a useful tool for her work, it would betray the chance they’d been given. She needed to have the connection between them as something separate, something sacred, that the rest of the universe didn’t have claim on.
So maybe there was a thread of selfishness in Belters too.
She started the recording.
“Jillian. Thank you for the report. Please let our friends in Báifàn system know that I hear and understand their concerns, and I absolutely understand their need for safety and equity in how trade is carried out through the rings. The goal has to be minimizing the need for ring transit by building up to sustainability for all the colonies as quickly as possible, and their goal for that is absolutely the same as ours. I’ll include the presentation for why the protocols are the best, safest way forward for all of us, and you can pass that along too. Hopefully, they’ve already seen it.”
But maybe this time they’ll actually pay attention.
Or maybe the builders’ ancient enemy would figure out how to end all human life and none of this would matter. Fatalism had its dark attractions, after all. Hopelessness and despair could almost look restful.
She played back her message, decided that it sounded too pat and rehearsed, and redid it another four times before she gave up and sent it out. The message queue still waiting looked like forever.
She massaged her hands, digging into the aching muscles at the base of her thumbs, while the next message played on her screen. Governor Tuan had thin, terrier-sharp cheeks, frog-wet eyes, gray-black hair, and a tight, officious smile. She wondered whether she would still have thought he was ugly if he’d had a different personality. She’d probably have been more forgiving.
“On behalf of the governing council of Firdaws, I would like to thank you for submitting your proposal. I am very interested in returning to a schedule of reliable and mutually profitable trade.”
“But,” Naomi said to herself as Tuan scowled theatrically on the screen.
“There are, however, some very real concerns about the document as it stands that will require some thoughtful conversation. In that spirit, I would like to propose a summit meeting. While Firdaws is not yet entirely self-sustaining, we do have certain amenities that we will be happy to offer. Our state-of-the-art luxury villas can be set aside for you and your associates for as long as the negotiations take.”
She slid it into a secondary queue. There was only so much explaining to people how cooperation would keep them all from dying she could manage in a single sitting.
The next entry stopped her. It was from Sol. It was from Kit.
The only child of Alex’s second marriage was a grown man now, but she’d seen him as a newborn and known his mother, Giselle, as well as any of the Roci crew had really gotten to know her. Now here he was, looking into a camera. He looked more like his mother—Giselle’s high, sharp cheekbones and regal forehead and brows. When he moved, she could see Alex in him.
“Hey,” he said. “So I know it’s been a while. And things… I know it’s not like we could be in touch more. But I wanted to let you know something.”
Naomi’s gut tightened, and she braced for a hit. That Kit had come to her had to mean it was something about Alex, or something that would hurt Alex badly enough that Kit wanted to be sure there would be people there to comfort him, even if he decided to keep it to himself.
“Well,” Kit said, “there aren’t a lot of planetary engineering gigs in Sol system, and the ones there are they have fifteen people applying for every spot. I know that we talked about me keeping a low profile—”
Naomi frowned, trying to remember when she’d said something like that.
“—but we got offered a contract with a geological survey on Nieuwestad. It’s a good company. Jacobin-Black Combined Capital. They’re doing a lot of industrial construction and microclimate engineering, and I think it could be a really good move for us. But it will make it harder for you to come visit, and I know with Rohi pregnant, you’d want to see your grandson.”
Kit grinned like he’d just delivered the punch line to a joke, and Naomi stopped the playback. Relief was like a drug in her veins. She leaned back in her crash couch, the gimbals hissing under her, and called up toward the flight deck.
“Alex! I think I got some of your mail. I’ll send it up.”
But he was already coming down the lift ladder. “What’s up?” he said.
“I got some of your mail. It’s in the intelligence packet, but it’s yours. From Kit.”
His smile was quick and automatic. “Well, play it.”
Naomi scrubbed the message back to the start and let it play. Knowing what was coming, she watched his face, and saw the shock and the joy and the tears in Alex’s eyes when the news landed. Kit went on for a time, telling Alex about the dates they were shipping out for Nieuwestad and the due date for the coming child. And some news of no real importance about Giselle and life on Mars. And then the message ended with Kit saying I love you, Dad and Alex lowering himself into the crash couch at Naomi’s side.
“Well ain’t that a kick in the nuts,” Alex said through a wide grin. “I’m going to be a granddaddy.”
“Yes, you are.”
He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “I was going to say I’m too young to be anyone’s grandfather, but I’m not, am I?”
“No,” Naomi said. “You aren’t. If anything, you ran kind of late.”
“Took a while getting it right. God. Kit’s a good kid. I hope he’s better at keeping a marriage together than I was.”
“He isn’t you. I’m not saying he won’t fuck it all up, but even if he does, it’ll be however he fucks it up. Not how you did.” For a moment she thought of her own son, dead along with his father and the rest of the Free Navy. The memory almost didn’t hurt. That wasn’t true. It would always hurt, but now it was a low-level ache instead of a knife to the belly. Time had done its healing, or at least let the scars go numb.
The piloting subsystem chimed, and Alex hauled himself up out of the couch. “I guess Giselle’s going to be a grandmother.” He grinned. “And she’s going to hate the shit out of it, isn’t she?”
“The title may not fit her self-image,” Naomi said.
“You make a good diplomat,” Alex said, and headed back for the lift. When she was alone again, she separated Kit’s message from the rest of the packet and copied it over to Alex’s message queue. She thought about keeping a copy for herself, but it hadn’t been meant for her, and she didn’t want to presume.
A soft clicking alert, and a new message popped up on her queue. She’d built a system of flags to help her keep track of her cascading responsibilities. This flag was the deep gold color that she’d chosen to mean Home. Issues specific and peculiar to the Rocinante and her little family. What remained of her little family.
The message was the one Naomi had been waiting for. Its tracking headers showed the subtle signs and countersigns the underground used to confirm authenticity. The repeaters echoed back to New Egypt, as she’d hoped. Nothing looked amiss. Anything that touched on the daughter of High Consul Winston Duarte, Naomi treated like it was made from snakes and plutonium.