“And the Derecho might chase you,” Naomi said. “Leave the civilians alone and come for you. That’s the idea, isn’t it?”
“It’s the hope. We’ve got… We’ve got recording stations in all the major towns. If it does come down to a bloodbath, it won’t be a quiet one. We’ll hang what they do here around their necks in every system with a radio. They know that too. It might help dissuade them.”
“What about direct confrontation? The Derecho’s a strong ship, but it’s the same class as the Storm. We have another gunship now. And if you have any other vessels or planetary defenses to throw in the mix—”
“We can look at it,” Jillian said. “It’s not apples to apples, though. Their ship is fresh and well supplied. And the Storm… It’s not in fighting condition. Not the way it should be.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t have the Laconian supplies or the repair equipment or the expertise. And we’ve been running the hell out of her for years. She’s a good ship, but she’s showing some age.”
Naomi heard what Jillian was moving toward. Hinting at, maybe without even being aware she was doing it. The younger woman was talking herself into a story where losing the ship, losing the base, wouldn’t be that bad. She was looking for the way that the massacre could be avoided, even if it meant surrender.
It struck Naomi that desperation could be like a fractaclass="underline" constantly changing but also the same at every level. The citizens of Freehold, afraid that their last days were upon them. Jillian grasping for any way to save her people. Naomi’s own grinding, frustrated fight to keep ships from going dutchman and build something to rival the authoritarian, vicious empire. Elvi Okoye, risking her life for any way to stop the things from beyond the ring gates and their waves of hostility and weirdness. No matter how far out your point of view, the fear and desperation were the same at every level.
The alert took them both by surprise. Jillian shifted the image from the Derecho to the distant ring gate and the comet-bright drive plume of a ship that had just made the transit.
“Were you expecting someone?” Jillian asked as she redirected the base’s passive sensors toward this new target. Naomi didn’t answer. Slowly, the image resolved until the silhouette was almost clear. The ship was Laconian and familiar. And while she would have to query the Rocinante for the drive signature, she was already certain that it would match the Sparrowhawk.
“It’s from New Egypt,” she said. “It’s hunting us.”
Jillian’s soft exhalation was as good as a curse. If they’d been short on good options before, now they were out. If they tried to run, it meant going past an incoming enemy, and even if they could slip past it, the Sparrowhawk would be able to reach the ring gates with them and report back where they’d gone. If they tried to fight, they’d be outmatched.
I’m so sorry was at the back of Naomi’s mouth when Jillian made a soft, surprised grunt. “What is it?” she asked instead.
“The new ship? It’s transmitting.”
“To the Derecho?”
“Not tightbeam,” Jillian said. “It’s broadcast. Just radio spectrum transmission.”
Naomi frowned. Point-to-point tightbeam was more secure than any broadcast, no matter how effective the encryption. The Sparrowhawk’s laser might not be strong enough to reach the Derecho or it might have lost alignment in the damage the Roci had done it. Or…
“Are there other ships in the system?” Naomi asked. “Is it signaling more than just the Derecho?”
Jillian pulled the base’s comm controls to her own desk, her fingers dancing over the screen. A scowl drew lines across her forehead and down the sides of her mouth. “Yes, it is. And it’s cleartext. They’re not even hiding it.”
“Is there an address flag? Who are they talking to?”
“You,” Jillian said. “They’re talking to you.” She shifted the comms playback to the larger wall screen.
The de facto leader of the Laconian Empire looked out at them both with startling green eyes and a smile Naomi could only call rueful. When he spoke, he sounded like a reed instrument, played softly.
“This message is for Naomi Nagata. My name is Anton Trejo. I think you know who I am and the situation we’re both in. It’s past time that you and I talk. I would like to propose an alliance…”
Chapter Eighteen: Jim
The panic was deep and irrational. It felt so much like the station itself was vibrating that Jim had to physically test that it was really just him. He realized the message had been playing and he didn’t know what it had said. He slid it back to the start, breathing deeply, and tried to keep his mind from bouncing off it again.
“This message is for Naomi Nagata. My name is Anton Trejo. I think you know who I am and the situation we’re both in. It’s past time that you and I talk. I would like to propose an alliance.
“We have our differences, and I’m not here to underplay or deny that. We also have access to certain information that makes clear the vulnerabilities that we’re both trying to address in our ways. We share a problem, you and I. The ring space and the unknown entities within it pose an existential threat for humanity. We must control access to the rings to limit this danger. We also both know that when it comes to getting people to deny their own immediate needs in favor of a greater good, asking nicely almost never works.”
Trejo spread his hands in a gesture of powerlessness. What option do they give us? Jim’s hands ached, and he forced his fists to unclench.
“I have here a copy of a document you wrote. Protocols for the safer use of the gates. I also have my own traffic analysis data that tell how well this project is going for you. I’ve had my best people analyze it and I have to say, it’s a damned good piece of work. Solid. If it were put in place, it might go a long way toward managing the threat of these incidents. The only thing it’s missing is a method of enforcement. Out of a shared concern for humanity as a whole and in recognition of our common history and moral bonds, I would like to put my forces at your disposal. On behalf of Laconia and High Consul Duarte, I am offering the underground not just armistice, but collaboration.
“We have to end these petty squabbles and fights. I think you know that. And I am willing to do so. Furthermore, I will commit to stationing two Laconian destroyers inside the ring space, even with the risk that we both know that exposes them to, with the sole mission of enforcing your transit protocol. We will not take aggressive action. We will not limit or control trade. I will guarantee the safety of any ship making use of the gates, and grant blanket amnesty for the underground.
“And I will begin by reassigning the forces presently in Freehold to that mission,” Trejo said. “That’s my offer. A unified front against the real enemies of humanity. And all I’d ask from you, as a gesture of your trust and goodwill, is the return of your present passenger. You know as well as I do that she’s in no danger from us. We only want to bring her home. And with this rapprochement between us, there’s no reason for her to be living in exile.”
The message ended, and for a moment, Jim wasn’t there. The cabin in Draper Station, the cot, the soft gravity, all of it was still present, but it became less immediate, less real than the holding cell in the depths of Laconia’s State Building. The fear was real, but more than that was the twin sense of despair and responsibility. The conviction that everything depended on him, and that he was powerless. Like watching something precious and delicate falling, and knowing that he couldn’t get to it in time. Everything was going to break, and even though there was nothing he could do, the grief pressed on him like he was the only one carrying it.