“Trejo was a Martian before he was Laconian,” Alex went on. “He betrayed his nation. I’m not sure that says a lot in favor of him keeping his word now.”
“My father was Martian too,” Teresa said, but there was no real heat in the words. More like she was thinking something through.
“The question is whether we can trust him to do what he’s promising,” Jim said. “The answer to that is inside Trejo’s skull, and we don’t have access to it. It’s just which side do we bet on?”
“That’s not the only question,” Amos said. “If we hand over Tiny, are we still the good guys? That’s a question too.”
“It is,” Jim agreed.
“If you can choose between one person and a hundred thousand, it’s not a hard call,” Teresa said. “I won’t even die.”
But Naomi’s gaze had turned inward. Something in Teresa’s words had done the trick. Jim saw her understand even before he knew what she’d understood. Naomi lifted her eyebrows and shook her head, just a millimeter back and forth.
“You know what this is?” she said. “This is him making me responsible for what he does. Teresa’s right. She’s got exactly the frame I’m supposed to use. One person for a multitude. But I’m not looking to kill a multitude. That’s him. If I do what he says, I’ll be saving all the people he would kill to punish me if I didn’t.”
Amos’ laugh was almost the same timbre and cadence as Muskrat’s little bark. When he spoke, he was mimicking the soft, threatening whine of an abusive lover. “Look what you made me do, baby. Why do you have to make me so mad?”
“That’s it,” Naomi said. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but that’s why I can’t do this. He’s holding a gun to their heads and then pretending that I’m the only one who can decide whether he pulls the trigger. That’s not a trust exercise. It’s just another threat.”
“Don’t forget the surrender. The amnesty,” Jim said. “There’s a carrot along with the stick.”
“Carrots don’t matter when he still gets to hold the stick,” Naomi said. “I’m done with sticks. Sticks are disqualifying. If he’d led by pulling the Derecho back from Freehold, it would be a different thing. He didn’t. He chose this, and I don’t trust him.”
Jim smiled at her. “Also, he’s asking us to hand over to him a young girl who doesn’t want to go, so fuck him. We don’t do that.”
“Fuck him,” Amos agreed.
The room was silent. Naomi pursed her lips and shook her head almost imperceptibly, continuing the conversation in her head. He wondered what she was saying, and to whom. He had the sense that, whoever they were, they were probably happier not being present for it.
“We’ve got two good ships,” he said.
“We’ve got two ships anyway,” Amos said. “I love ’em both, but the Roci’s feeling her years and the Storm’s gone a long way between updates.”
“We’ve got two mostly okay ships,” Jim said. “Not bad anyway. We load up everyone on Draper Station, burn hard for the ring gate, and take the Sparrowhawk out if it tries to stop us. With the Storm in the open, no reason to bomb Freehold anymore. At least the planet would be safe.”
“Best bad plan we’ve got,” Naomi said.
Jim headed for the door. He almost felt like himself again. The panic and fear weren’t gone, but they’d grown smaller. Manageable. “First thing is make sure we’re all the way topped up on rail-gun slugs,” he said, and pulled the handle. The door didn’t move, and an alert popped up on the locking panel. The error was so out of place that he pulled on the door twice more before he understood what he was seeing. EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN. VACUUM HAZARD.
“Uh, that’s weird,” he said.
Naomi was already on her hand terminal. “Jillian. What’s going on?”
The voice that answered was hard and brittle. “I understand that you’re upset, ma’am.”
“What did you do?”
“While I respect the civilian branch of the underground which you represent, this is a military matter. The enemy has a hundred thousand of our people they’re prepared to spare in exchange for one girl who they aren’t even going to hurt. There’s no dishonor in a prisoner exchange.”
“Do you think Trejo’s really going to walk away once he’s got her?” Naomi said. Rage buzzed, but she didn’t raise her voice.
“According to our best sources on the man, he will honor his word,” Jillian said.
“You don’t get to make that call,” Naomi said. “That’s my job.”
“Respectfully? As the captain of the Gathering Storm, which is the flagship of our military branch, I have authority over military decisions. This is a military decision.”
“Jillian,” Alex said, loud enough for Naomi’s hand terminal to pick him up. “You don’t need to do this. Bobbie wouldn’t have done this.”
“Captain Draper understood that one individual can’t stand in the way of the greater good, Mr. Kamal. If she were here, she’d be doing the same thing I’m doing.”
Amos chuckled. “You can tell yourself that, Sunshine. Don’t make it true.”
“The Sparrowhawk is on its way with a representative of Laconia. The Derecho is burning this way as an escort force with an understanding that both ships will leave the system once the handoff is complete. Until it is, I’m restricting you all to your quarters,” Jillian said. “Once this is over, and your emotions are calm enough that you can see that this decision was correct, we can discuss whether you want to fracture the underground’s leadership or back my authority.”
“Jillian,” Naomi said, but the connection was dead.
The walls of the common room felt as small as a cell, and the fear rolled up Jim’s spine, as fresh and angry as if he’d never put a lid on it. The others were talking, their voices washing over each other. Alex saying I can talk sense into her if we can just get her to pick up again. Amos guessing out loud how long it would take to get down the hallway in hard vacuum, and whether the rest of them would survive even if he did. Naomi repeating Jillian’s name again, trying the connection. He was the only one who stayed quiet. Or, no, Teresa did too.
She looked at him like they were alone together. He nodded to her. She nodded back.
Chapter Nineteen: Kit
Their cabin on the Preiss was so small that if Rohi were standing in it, he couldn’t cross the room without brushing against her. The thick cloth covering the metal bulkheads was an unappetizing olive color with location and maintenance data woven into the fabric in orange thread. The wall screen was hardly bigger than two handhelds put side by side and had a protective coating that never seemed clean no matter how much Kit wiped it down. Their crash couches were old gel and badly designed, built into cubbies in the wall that could pinch fingers and toes if they weren’t careful. Bakari’s couch was welded to the deck, the metal still bright where it had been put in. It was a much better design.
It was their only private space for the next few months while the Preiss burned out to the ring gate, made the transit to Nieuwestad system, and then burned to Fortuna Sittard—the capital city on the main habitable planet.
They shared a common galley, microgymnasium, and showers with six other cabins. Someone had put up the city flag of their new home: green and red with a black-and-white patterned circle in the center that looked suspiciously like a football. The door directly across from them belonged to a pair of brothers from Breach Candy who had left their mother’s old salvage company for a contract on Nieuwestad, giving up the family trade of breaking down old terraforming equipment to build controlled environments in the unfamiliar biology of a new world. Kit worried that Bakari’s crying kept the brothers awake, but if it did, they didn’t complain.