“Well that’s all right, then.”
On her bed, Naomi Nagata had visibly relaxed. Knowing her crew were alive and with her carried a lot of weight. Bull filed the information away in case it was useful later.
“The woman who attacked you is under arrest,” Bull said.
“She’s the one. The bomb,” Naomi said.
“We’re looking into that,” he said, trying to keep his tone reassuring. Another coughing fit spoiled the effect.
Naomi frowned, remembering something. Bull wished he could take her other hand. Build some rapport. The mech was a fine way to walk around, but there were other ways it was limiting.
“Jim?” she said.
“Captain Holden has been taken into custody by the Martian navy,” Bull said. “I’m trying to negotiate his release into our custody, but it’s not going very well so far.”
Naomi smiled as if he’d given her good news and nodded. Her eyes closed.
“What ’bout Miller?”
“Who?” Bull asked, but she was already asleep. Sam shifted to Alex’s bed and Bull stepped over to look down on the Rocinante’s sleeping mechanic. Amos Burton. They were a pretty sad bunch, and far too small a crew to run a ship like theirs safely. Maybe Jakande could get some pointers from them.
Until he got Holden, they were going to be at a disadvantage. The man was a professional symbol, and creating calm when there was no reason for it was all about symbols. Captain Jakande wouldn’t bend, because if she did, she’d be court-martialed when they got back. If they got back. Bull didn’t like it, but he understood it. If they’d been anywhere but the slow zone, they’d all have been rattling sabers and baring teeth. Instead, all they could do was talk…
Bull’s mouth went dry. Sam was still looking at Naomi Nagata’s bed, her face angry and despairing.
“Sam,” Bull said. “Got a minute?”
She looked up and nodded. Bull flicked the little joystick, and the mech trod awkwardly around. He steered it back out through the door and back to his own private room. By the time they got there, Sam’s expression had shifted to curious. Bull closed the door, coughing. He felt a little light-headed and his heart was racing. Fear, excitement, or being vertical for the first time since they’d passed through the Ring, he didn’t know.
“What’s up, boss?”
“The comm laser,” Bull said. “Say I wanted to make it into a weapon. What’s the most power we could put through it?”
Sam’s frown was more than an engineer making mental calculations. The spin gravity made her seem older. Or maybe bathing in death and fear just did that to people.
“I can make it about as hot as the middle of a star for a fraction of a second,” Sam said. “It’d burn that side of the ship down to a bad smell, though.”
“What’s the most we could do and get, say, three shots out of it? And not melt our ship?”
“It can already carve through a ship’s hull if you’ve got time to spare. I can probably pare that time down a bit.”
“Get that going, will you?”
Sam shook her head.
“What?” Bull asked.
“That big glowy ball out there can turn off inertia when it feels threatened. I don’t feel comfortable making light into a weapon. Seriously, what if it decides to stop all the photons or something?”
“If we have it, we won’t need to use it.”
Sam shook her head again.
“I can’t do that for you, Bull.”
“What about the captain? Would you do it for a Belter?”
Sam’s cheeks flushed. It might have been embarrassment or anger.
“Cheap shot.”
“Sorry, but would you take a direct order from Captain Pa?”
“From her, yes. But not because she’s a Belter. Because she’s the captain and I trust her judgment.”
“More than mine.”
Sam held up her hands in a Belter shrug.
“Last time I just did whatever you told me to, I wound up under house arrest.”
Bull had to give her the point. He fumbled to extricate his arm from the mech, scooped up his hand terminal, and put in a priority connection request to Pa. She took it almost immediately. She looked older too, worn, solid, certain. Crisis suited her.
“Mister Baca,” she said. “Where do we stand?”
“Captain Jakande isn’t going to bring her people over, even though they all know it would be better. And she won’t give up Holden.”
“All right,” Pa said. “Well, we tried.”
“But she might surrender to you,” Bull said. “And seems to me it’s going to be a lot easier being sheriff if we can get the only gun in the slow zone.”
Pa tilted her head.
“Go on,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-Four: Clarissa
T
he guards came, brought thinly rationed food-grade protein and measured bottles of water, led the prisoners to the head with pistols drawn, and then took them back. For the most part, Clarissa lay on the floor or stretched, hummed old songs to herself or drew on the skin of her arms—white fingernail scratches. The boredom would have been crushing if she’d felt it, but she seemed to have unconnected from time.
The only times she cried were when she thought of killing Ren and when she remembered her father. The only things she anticipated at all were another visit from Tilly or her mysterious friend, and death.
The woman came first, and when she did, Clarissa recognized her. With her red hair pulled down by spin, her face looked softer, but the eyes were unforgettable. The woman from the galley on the Thomas Prince. And then, later, from the Rocinante. Anna. She’d told Naomi that her name was Anna.
Just one more person Clarissa had tried to kill once.
“I have permission to speak with her,” Anna said. The guard—a broad-faced man with a scarred arm that he wore like a decoration—crossed his arms.
“She’s here, si no? Talk away.”
“Absolutely not,” Anna said. “This is a private conversation. I can’t have it in front of the others.”
“You can’t have it anywhere else,” the guard said. “You know how many people this coya killed? She’s got implants. Dangerous.”
“She knows,” Clarissa said, and Anna flashed a smile at her like they’d shared a joke. A feeling of unease cooled Clarissa’s gut. There was something threatening about a woman who could take being attacked and treat it like it was a shared intimacy. Clarissa wondered whether she wanted to talk with her after all.