The acknowledgment from the Derecho came two hours later, and a human being hadn’t touched it. One ship system talking to another, as smooth and lacking in intention as meshing gears in a clockwork. The Derecho was looking for the Storm. The Roci wasn’t the Storm. And even if they were under suspicion, the Laconian strategy didn’t change. They had a gun to Charles Parker’s head and a hundred thousand heads like his, and a timer ticking down toward zero. If the Sidpai was a little sketchy, none of that changed.
The transit to Draper Station was a little brilliancy that showed how good Alex had become as a pilot. It followed a flowing path that exploited the gravity of the gas giant’s moons in their relative orbits, did nothing that looked out of place or implausible, and still landed the Roci with the body of the target moon obscuring the Derecho, and the gas giant keeping any ship coming in from the gate from seeing exactly where they landed.
With the strict comms blackout that protocol required, Naomi wasn’t certain what they’d find when they got there. When the first, almost inaudible navigation pings came, it felt like relief. Alex guided them into the hidden base gracefully. For the years he’d been Bobbie’s pilot, this had been his home, and his intimacy with it showed in the ease of their passage. The Storm was in the secret dock along with two little in-system rock hoppers. The Roci edged into an open berth, the docking clamps locking on with a deep, gentle clank that rang through the ship. To the Derecho, it would look like the little survey ship had landed in a lava tube.
Jillian Houston was waiting for them when the airlock doors opened. She was smaller than Naomi thought of her being, pale hair pulled back but long. She wore a uniform-style jacket without insignia or signs of rank. The woman had served in no military besides the one they’d made up together.
The Derecho was a little under sixty-three hours from starting its bombardment of the planet, and it showed in her eyes.
“You’ve come at a difficult time, ma’am,” Jillian said.
“I’m sorry there are so many of those,” Naomi said.
“My father always says anything worth having is worth fighting for.”
Naomi wasn’t sure whether the bite in the words was really there or if she was just hearing what she expected. Bobbie had always given Jillian good if sometimes cautious evaluations, had promoted her up to be her second-in-command, and left the Storm to her care when she died, but Naomi wasn’t Bobbie. The first time the Roci had come to Freehold, it had taken Jillian’s father away as a prisoner. The alliance between Freehold and the underground had been one of the first steps in pushing back against Laconia, but Naomi couldn’t help feeling that there was still a splinter from that first interaction.
“How is your father?” Naomi asked.
“He’s planetside, ma’am.” It was a prosaic way of saying He’s about to die.
The others came out behind Naomi, Jim first, then Alex, Amos, and Teresa. Jillian’s gaze lingered on Amos long enough that it almost became uncomfortable before she shifted to Alex.
“Good to see you again, Captain,” Alex drawled.
“Welcome back, Mr. Kamal,” she said, and Alex grinned.
“You keeping the ship in trim?”
“You won’t find any dust on her,” Jillian said, then shifted her attention back to Naomi. “I didn’t know what you needed for the resupply, but your time here’s short. I got everything ready that I could. We have some quarters set aside for you to rest. It might be a little loud on your ship.”
“I can walk your techs through what we’re short on,” Amos said. “It’s going to be better if we load up and get out quick. Especially since we’re such a crack surveying team now.”
If his appearance unnerved Jillian, she didn’t show it. “Come with me. I’ll get you started.”
The gravity on the moon was hardly more than a suggestion. The rock of the corridors was coated with sealants and braced. None of the stone here had been compressed by a gravity well strong enough to make it hard. Naomi had the sense that she could have dug her way through it with her bare hands like it was packing foam. It was only the human structures that made it feel solid.
The dockworkers and supply techs were a mixed bunch. Naomi recognized old-school OPA by their tattoos and the quick, well-practiced actions that came from a life spent close to vacuum, but there were also younger men and women. People Jillian’s age who had come to the underground from the bottom of gravity wells and made their way here. There were more since the siege of Laconia. The empire’s loss had given a lot of people hope. She wasn’t certain she was one of them.
The Rocinante could plausibly stay on their false survey mission for three or four days. That was long enough to top up all their tanks and swap out their air scrubbers and recycling matrix, and do some of the smaller hull repairs. It was long enough that they would be on hand to watch the civilian population of Freehold die.
When the resupply and repairs were all agreed on and the process was underway, fifty-nine hours were left. Naomi went to the quarters Jillian had mentioned: narrow rooms with cots and blankets around a small private galley and head. The Roci was more spacious. Jim was curled up, napping. Naomi wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him. Instead, she sent a comm request to Jillian. The reply was directions to her on-base office.
She thought about waking Jim and bringing him along with her. He had a way of smoothing some conversations just by being in the room. But this was her burden to carry. He’d be there later if she needed him.
The office was small, with screens on two walls and the surface of the desk. The parts of the walls not taken up with images of the Derecho and Freehold, the security map of the station, the status of the Storm and the Rocinante, and the environmental status were painted a grayish orange. It would have looked good with some blue beside it. Jillian, seated, waved her in, and Naomi pulled the door closed behind her.
“I didn’t know Freehold was under attack,” she said.
Jillian didn’t look her in the eye. “The fucker blew out our repeater at the ring and dropped one of their own as soon as they came through. There wasn’t a way to raise the red flag. I apologize.”
“It wasn’t criticism. I’m afraid we’ve made the situation worse.”
“I don’t know that’s possible. But we do need to talk about our options now that you’re here.”
Jillian’s right hand closed into a fist, then opened, and closed again. It wasn’t the only sign of distress, but it was the most obvious one. Naomi breathed into the version of herself that was cold, analytic, and ruthless. She’d never wanted to be a war leader. The universe had insisted.
“You have plans?”
“A plan,” Jillian said. “The Storm is ready to evacuate. It’s already loaded with all the supplies she’ll carry and the parts of the station we could take down and stow. We break cover and get the enemy to follow us. Get out through the ring, transit to a different system, and start building a fresh base.”
“So abandon Draper entirely?”
“It’s not useful for anything but the Storm,” Jillian said. “And it’s less useful for that than it could be.”
Naomi frowned, motioning Jillian on.
“Freehold’s strategic importance was that no one knew we were here. That’s spent now. I don’t know if their traffic analysis is better than ours or someone leaked something. Shit, it could just have been a good guess. But they’re here. Keeping the base at this point is just holding on out of spite.”