“They’re starting to get confirmed death lists,” Holden said. “It’s still early. A lot of things still falling apart down there, and there’s going to be a lot more bad before it sees better. But he’s not on the list yet.”
“So that’s good. And c’mon. It’s Amos. Everyone on Earth dies, and he’ll probably stack the bodies and climb up to Luna.”
“Last man standing,” Holden said, but he headed back to the medical bay with his heart a little less buoyant. Naomi was gone, the needle that had been in her arm resting on the gel of the bed and the expert system gently prompting someone to intervene. Holden, the bulb of tea in his hand, checked the head and the galley before he thought to go back to the crew quarters.
She was on their bed, her knees curled up toward her chest, her eyes closed, her hair spilling over the gel. She snored a little, soft animal sounds of peace and contentment. Holden put the tea on the desk beside her so that it would be there waiting when she woke.
The ops deck was quiet, relatively speaking. Gor Droga, one of the weapons techs, was at a workstation, monitoring the ship and listening to something that had a beat on headphones. All Holden could hear of it was a slightly shifting bass line and an occasional phrase or two when Gor was moved to sing along. The lyrics were in something close to French without actually being French.
The lights were low, most of the illumination coming from the monitors. Holden didn’t have a pair of headphones close to hand, so he just kept the volume low and watched Monica Stuart being interviewed. The man she was talking to was based on an L5 station, but the transmission gaps had all been edited out to make it seem like they were in the same room.
“No, it doesn’t surprise me at all that the OPA would assist in escorting Prime Minister Smith. Fred Johnson has been vocal and active for years in bringing the OPA into the diplomatic discussion, often against resistance from the inner planets. If anything, I think there’s a real irony in the fact that this series of attacks by the Free Navy have been the catalyst to cementing the OPA’s legitimacy with Earth and Mars.”
The camera cut to the interviewer. “So you don’t see the Free Navy as a part of the OPA?”
And back to Monica. Holden chuckled. She’d changed her blouse between questions. He wondered what the lag had been like before it got edited down for the feed. “Not at all. The Free Navy is interesting in part because it gives the radical fringe of the OPA a different banner to raise. It represents a sort of self-selected culling of the elements that have kept the Belt from being better respected by the inner planets. And keep in mind, Mars and Earth weren’t the only targets of the Free Navy’s coup. Tycho Station is as big a success story as Ceres for Belters, and it was attacked too.”
“Other pundits are calling that a changing of the guard within the OPA, though. Why do you see it as something external?”
Monica nodded sagely. It was a well-practiced motion, and it worked to make her seem intelligent and thoughtful but still approachable. There was an artistry in what she did.
“Well, Michael, sometimes when we make these distinctions, we’re really creating them more than describing anything that’s already there. We’re seeing a very broad realignment on more than one side. It seems clear that elements in the Martian military have been involved with supplying the Free Navy, and also that Prime Minister Smith was their target. So would we call that a rogue element on Mars, or an internal power struggle? In fact, I think the best description we can probably make at this point isn’t in terms of UN and Martian Republic and OPA, but the traditional system being brought together in the face of this new threat. This situation grows out of a deep history of conflict, but there are new lines being drawn here.”
Fred chuckled. Holden hadn’t heard him come up, but there he was, looking over Holden’s shoulder. Holden paused the feed as Fred took a couch across from him.
“You can always tell your media relations team is doing their job when the journalists are down to interviewing each other,” Fred said.
“I think she’s doing good work,” Holden said. “She’s at least trying to put this all in a context where it makes sense.”
“She’s also rebranding herself as an expert on me personally. And you, for that matter.”
“Okay, that is a little weird. Any other news I should know about?”
Fred glanced over at Gor, scowled, then leaned over and tapped the man’s shoulder. Gor took off the headphones.
“Take a break,” Fred said. “We’ll make sure she’s solid.”
“Yes, sir,” Gor said. “Be aware that this close to the corona, we’re building up a little heat.”
“We’ll keep an eye on it.”
Gor unstrapped and slid down the ladder. Fred watched him go with a wistful smile. “I remember when I could take a ladder that way. Been a few years, though.”
“I don’t anymore either.”
“Thus does age make cowards of us all. Or maybe that’s conscience,” Fred said, and heaved a sigh. “Inaros and his ships haven’t made it as far as Saturn’s orbit yet, and piracy in the outer planets is spiking. The colony ships are well supplied, under-armed, and there are a lot of them.”
“They weren’t expecting a civil war.”
“Is that what this is?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Well. Maybe. I’ve been talking to Smith. I don’t suppose Alex and Bobbie overheard much of what he was doing on the Razorback?”
Holden leaned forward. “I don’t think they were spying on him, no. Were you thinking they would?”
“I was hoping your man might have. This Draper woman’s too much the patriot. So, without outside confirmation, Smith’s story is that there’s a breakdown in the naval command. Might just be that someone’s been selling a great chunk of their ordnance to Inaros. Might be there was another actor who was willing to swap out.”
“For the protomolecule,” Holden said. “That was the price of all this, wasn’t it?”
“No one knows it’s missing aside from you, me, Drummer’s men, and whoever took it. I’ll keep it quiet as long as I can, but when we get to Luna, I think I have to tell Smith and Avasarala.”
“Of course you do,” Holden said. “Why wouldn’t you tell them?”
Fred blinked. His laugh, when it came, was deep and rolling. It came up from his belly and filled the air. “Just when I think you’ve changed, you come out with something that is uniquely James Holden. I don’t know what to think about you. I really don’t.”
“Thanks?”
“Welcome,” Fred said. And a moment later, “There are ships burning for the gates. Martian military ships. It would help me a great deal to know if they answered to Inaros or to someone else.”
“Like the one who got the protomolecule sample?”
“Anyone, really. I want to talk to Nagata.”
The atmosphere between them went cool. “You want to interrogate her.”
“I do.”
“And you’re asking my permission?”
“It seemed polite.”
“I’ll talk to her about it when she’s recovered a little more,” Holden said.
“Couldn’t ask for anything more,” Fred said, heaving himself to his feet. At the edge of the ladder, he paused. Holden watched him consider sliding down the sides the way Gor had. He watched Fred decide not to. Rung by rung, Fred climbed down out of the ops deck, shutting the hatch behind him. Holden turned the feed back on, and then off again. His head felt filled with cotton.
He’d been so focused for so long on distracting himself from Naomi’s absence, now she was back, he felt almost overwhelmed. Monica was right. Things had changed, and he didn’t know anymore what his place was in them. Even if he turned away from Fred and Avasarala and the politics of his own minor celebrity, what could an independent ship do in this new, remade solar system? Were there banks that would be able to pay him if he took a job flying cargo to the Jovian moons? And the colonists that had already gone through the rings to new, alien worlds? Would the Free Navy really stop resupply from getting out to them, and the raw materials and discoveries they made from getting back?