“Not sure I—” Alex started, but Clarissa ignored him, so he trailed off.
“But the largest food producers were the rice growers. They had the biggest domes and farms. The most real estate. By owning a controlling share in their company, my father was in a position to dictate policy to the Ganymede Agriculture Union. It meant, in terms of Ganymede food production, he couldn’t be ignored by the local government.”
“What did he use that for?” Bobbie asked.
“Nothing,” Clarissa said with a delicate wave of one hand. “But he had it. He owned an important piece of Ganymede, a thing he hadn’t controlled before. And some men just need to own everything. Anything they lay their eyes on that they don’t possess, it’s like a sliver in their finger.”
Clarissa pushed her soggy fries away and smiled at them all.
“My father could be the kindest, most generous and loving man. Right up until he wanted something and you wouldn’t give it to him. I don’t know why I think this, but Duarte feels the same. And these are men who will mercilessly punish anyone who won’t comply, but with tears in their eyes and begging you to tell them why you made them do it.”
“I knew a few guys like that,” Amos said.
“So, he won’t stop until he has it all,” Bobbie said. “And it looks like he has the tech to make it work. The armor, that destroyer, and that planet killer floating outside. All of this? They all look like they came out of the same factory to anyone else?”
“Yeah, it’s protomolecule shit,” Amos agreed. “Some of it looks like the stuff growing on Eros.”
“I’m seeing a timeline here,” Bobbie said.
“We were looking into those missing ships when I talked to this Duarte guy,” Alex said. “It was about the time Medina was throwing a lot of probes through the gates to get a gander at the usable planets.”
Bobbie finally got the ordering screen to come up on the table, but on impulse bought a glass of club soda instead of another beer. It felt like something important was on the tip of her mind, and she didn’t want to drown it in booze.
“So,” she said, letting the words come out of the back of her head, hoping her subconscious had an insight it hadn’t shared yet. “A probe finds something in the Laconia system, something that makes ships and armor and who knows what else.”
“What, like a big volumetric printer that says, ‘Insert protomolecule here’ on the side?” Amos scoffed.
“Hey,” Alex replied, “we found a planet-sized power generator with moons that could turn off fusion.”
Amos considered that for a moment. “Yeah. Fair enough.”
“Marco’s people are running a fifth column on Medina by that point,” Bobbie continued. “Duarte must have been working with them already. Said he’d slip them a fat payday for early info on the ring probes. They call him up and say, ‘Hey, we found this awesome thing.’”
“He hands them a bunch of Martian ships,” Alex said.
“And Marco starts fucking up the solar system while Duarte takes the rest of his fleet and a bunch of like-minded Martians and takes over in Laconia,” Bobbie finished.
“Where he spends a few decades making ships and fancy armor and whatnot, then rolls through the gate ready to name himself king,” Alex said as her club soda arrived.
“Which means Marco was just a tool,” Bobbie said.
“Kind of knew that,” Amos chimed in.
“Free Navy kept everyone distracted while Duarte got set up on Laconia. And we’ve been sitting here patting ourselves on the back and trying to keep all the food supplies where they need to be for thirty-odd years while he’s been getting ready to kick the shit out of us,” Bobbie said. “Alex, maybe you should write up your thoughts on meeting him. What kind of guy he was.”
“I sat in his office for a few minutes. There are probably some people on Medina who served around the same time he did,” Alex said. “If we can find where the Martian vets hang out, we could see if anyone knew him.”
“Yeah, that’s a good—” Bobbie started, then stopped when she noticed Amos stiffen in his chair. The big mechanic’s hand drifted toward his right hip and the gun that was no longer there since the Laconian weapon sweeps.
“Amos?” she said.
“Trouble on the move,” he replied with a gentle tilt of his head.
The people he’d nodded toward were a group of Belters, old-school OPA by the tats. They were walking through the drum section nearby. They wore coats too large and heavy for the constant perfect weather of Medina’s drum section, and several carried large bags. They kept their heads down and moved fast, like people with a purpose. She recognized one of them. Onni Langstiver, the asshole head of security.
“What’s over there?” Bobbie asked.
“Some offices? The banking section, and some administrative stuff,” Alex replied.
“The Laconians took it over,” Clarissa added.
“Here we go,” Amos said, and stood up. In the distance, the Belters were pulling things out of their coats and bags. Bobbie felt the surge of adrenaline in her blood the same moment as the calm descended on her: danger followed immediately by the well-cultivated response to danger. It felt like being home.
Bobbie looked around the little bar for likely cover. Nothing within ten steps looked like it would stop a bullet, so she grabbed Alex with one arm and Clarissa with the other and pulled them both to the ground with her. Amos was still standing up, watching the drama play out.
“Get down, you idi—” Clarissa started, but whatever else she was about to say was drowned out by the gunfire.
Chapter Sixteen: Singh
As he stepped out of the office complex, Singh made the mistake of looking up. The thin line of blazing full-spectrum light that ran down the center of Medina’s habitat drum blinded him, just a little. It cut a glowing streak across his vision, and filled his eyes with tears. Like looking into a sun, if instead of an orb several light minutes away, it was a line drawn in the sky and very close.
“Hold on a moment,” he said to his Marine escort, as he tried to get his vision back.
“Copy that,” the Marine replied, then said, “we’re oscar mike, triphammer two minutes from the cart. Rolling teams for cover to station ops.”
It took Singh a moment to realize that most of that was comm chatter to his security detail. He had nothing but respect for the Marines under his command and for the security they provided, but they did love their jargon and code names. A moment later he’d shaken most of the water out of his eyes, and the yellow-green afterimage line across his vision was fading.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
“Copy that,” the Marine replied, and pointed to a parking area about fifty meters away with three electric carts lined up and waiting. Lieutenant Kasik was hurrying toward him from the carts, waving a monitor that had been extended to its full size. He met them a few seconds later, puffing with exertion.
“I have the initial defense reports,” Kasik said, handing the monitor to Singh.
“Excellent.” Singh scrolled past a spreadsheet of incomprehensible numbers. “I hope there’s a summary?”
“Yes, sir, and the tech group is waiting for you in station ops to answer any questions. But the initial findings are very exciting.”
“Tell me.”
“What we can see,” Kasik said, “is the ring system converted all of the energy from the Tempest’s field projector into gamma rays released through the rings.”
“We knew that,” Singh replied with a frown.
“But … the energy released was orders of magnitude more than the energy the central sphere absorbed. The ring system amplified it. Exponentially. If the factor is consistent, we can create predictive models for input versus output very quickly.”
It was exactly what he’d hoped. The alien rings could be made into their own defenses, and the reconstruction of the defense battery skipped entirely. The Tempest would be free to move into Sol system months ahead of the original plan. Any attack would fail, even if it were coordinated through every ring at once. One Magnetar-class battle cruiser could guard thirteen hundred gates at once and never miss its shot. The battle to seize control of every human-controlled world in the galaxy was already over.
After that, it was just administration of the new empire. Singh tried to imagine the high consul’s pleasure, the possible rewards, and his imagination failed him. But one thing still bothered him.
“Why was it, Kasik, that we heard about this from a local? If this had gone overlooked—”