It wouldn’t work. The Laconian ship was made to be faster. And if they wanted Teresa, their best move was to punch a hole in the Roci’s drive cone and force a shutdown, then board and take her at their leisure. Turning tail and running would just make the shot easier. The alternative was to make it hard.
He closed his eyes. There was only one next step that he could think of, and he hated it. His mind shifted and slipped, looking for a better idea.
“Uh, Jim?” Alex said. “Your while’s about up. What’s the play?”
Fuck, he thought. “Keep our nose pointed at them. Make it so they have to put a hole through every deck in the ship to hit the drive.”
Naomi and Alex were silent for a moment, then Alex said, “I’m on it.”
The distant sound of the thrusters was totally different from the earlier roar. The shift of the crash couch felt almost gentle.
Naomi nodded, and checked power status on the rail gun. “Funny. You were saying before that the human shield thing made you uncomfortable.”
“I’ve moved past uncomfortable to furious.”
She nodded her agreement, then the screen lit up as the tightbeam request was accepted. A man’s face appeared on the screen: broad, with round cheeks, dark skin, and a full and well-groomed mustache. He was wearing the blue uniform of Laconia with a captain’s rank. He nodded at the camera, as calm as if they were in line together at the commissary.
“Captain Holden. I am Captain Noel Mugabo of the Sparrowhawk. Please return to the planet surface. I mean you and your crew no harm.”
“You people just put a bullet through my mechanic,” Jim said, and Naomi stiffened.
“And you killed four Laconian Marines,” the captain said. “I am here to help us both deescalate. My orders are to keep you here. We need Teresa Duarte’s assistance, and for that, she must come with us. We will not hurt her, nor will we detain you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Your doubt doesn’t change our situation.” Jim noticed the way the man said our situation. Building rapport. Making it harder to pull the trigger, but also not backing down a centimeter. He’d had conversations like this as a prisoner on Laconia. “Please return to the planet’s surface, and we will take care of all this without any more violence.”
His crash couch put up a low-grade medical alert. His blood pressure and heart rate were concerning. Not dangerous, but not not-dangerous. He turned off the alerts.
“No,” Jim said. “I think we both know that’s not going to happen.”
Alex called down from the flight deck. “They’re getting closer. Want me to break orbit?”
Jim muted his mic. “Not yet.”
“What alternative do you suggest?” Captain Mugabo asked. “I am open to discussing this.”
“I propose you land so we know you’re not a threat. Then we leave. With the girl.”
“May I have a moment to consult with my superior?”
Jim nodded, and Mugabo’s eyes shifted down as if he were sending a text-only message. Jim pulled up a tactical window. The two ships whipping around the planet in a low orbit, pointed dead-on at each other like gunmen in a cheap entertainment feed. He didn’t know what sorts of weapons the Sparrowhawk carried, but he knew for a fact they were all pointed at him right now.
Another window appeared. Fire control, with the rail gun charged and ready, the Laconian ship locked in with passive targeting so that it wouldn’t seem like an escalation. He glanced over to Naomi. She mouthed the words If you need it. He nodded.
“All right,” Mugabo said. “I accept your terms.”
“What?”
“We both value the life of the girl. If we have to continue this negotiation another time, so be it. You can go.”
Jim took two long breaths. “You’re not beginning a deorbit burn.”
“Did you expect me to?”
“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth,” Jim said. “I think if I fire the maneuvering thrusters, start to turn a little bit, you’ll send a round through my drive cone. I think the only reason you haven’t already done it is that you’d have to shoot through the whole ship to do it, and the risk to Teresa Duarte is too high.”
“I assure you that is not the case,” Mugabo said.
“Then you go first. If we’re free to leave, begin your descent. When I see you touch down, I’ll know you were telling the truth.”
“Yes,” Mugabo said. “Of course. I very much understand your position.”
“You’re playing for time.”
“I understand why you would feel that way, Captain Holden. Please believe me that we mean you and your crew no harm, and that my offer is sincere.”
The tactical screen bloomed at the same moment that Naomi’s calm voice reached him. “Fast movers. They’ve launched torpedoes.”
Radar tracked the pair of torpedoes as they arced out away from the Sparrowhawk. Mugabo had been buying time while his people locked in a firing solution that sent the torpedoes out and around the Roci to arc back in and hit her from behind. Take out the drive and leave the rest of the ship intact.
Jim tapped the fire control, and the Rocinante dropped away beneath him for a fraction of a second as a two-kilo tungsten slug spat out toward the enemy without the main drive on to compensate for the kick. Mugabo vanished, the tightbeam connection lost. The rolling, deep chatter of the PDCs vibrated through the ship. One of the torpedoes blinked off his board.
“I’m lining up another shot,” Alex said. The rail gun showed ready. The other missile blinked off the board. The Roci squealed a warning at them as two more torpedoes locked on.
“They’re getting ready to launch again,” Jim said.
“I’ve got the reactor set to dump core if the Roci thinks we’re out of luck,” Naomi said.
“Alex?”
The rail gun locked onto the Sparrowhawk a second time and fired without Jim’s having to clear it. “I think you got ’em,” Alex said.
Jim switched to the external telescopes. The Sparrowhawk was where it had been, curving around the planet toward them, its orbit unchanged. But now a cloud of gas and water vapor sprayed out of the ship along one side. The lock-on tone died as the Sparrowhawk’s torpedoes failed to fire.
“They may be playing dead,” Naomi said.
“Alex, keep the rail gun trained on them.”
“Copy that.”
A tiny suggestion of up and down came, shifting the couches on their gimbals as Alex adjusted the ship’s orbit to keep the Sparrowhawk lined up in their sights. No new lock-on warnings sounded. No active radar bounced off their hull. Jim pulled up the comms again, tried the tightbeam connection without knowing exactly what he’d say if Mugabo answered. He didn’t. The Laconian ship drifted on in its low, fast orbit. Either the Laconian ship would repair itself, or in another few weeks it would fall back down into the planet’s gravity well and burn up like a meteor. Or it was only playing dead, waiting for Jim to declare victory, turn the ship, and catch a rail-gun round through its drive.
“Alex,” he said. “Pull us back on maneuvering thrusters. If they don’t turn to match… Turn us, and let’s break orbit. Get out of here.”
“Copy that,” Alex said, and the Roci shifted under Jim. They moved gently. Slowly. Waiting for the alarms that would mean the Sparrowhawk had only been playing dead.
The alarms didn’t come.