Persepolis Rising (The Expanse, #7)

Singh lost a few seconds. When he became aware again, he was on his knees next to his desk, vomiting into his trash can. From the state of the bin, he’d been at it for a while. The smell and look of the mess set off a new round of vomiting that only ended when his stomach clenched up painfully on nothing and a thin trickle of bile bit at the back of his throat. Delayed shock. Trauma reaction. It was normal, he told himself. Anyone would go through it.

“I’m so sorry, Kasik,” he said, face suddenly covered in tears for a man whose first name he couldn’t even remember.

The comm unit on his desk politely beeped. “Leave me the fuck alone,” Singh yelled at it.

“Admiral Trejo is here for you, sir,” a carefully neutral voice replied.

“Here?”

“In the security lobby, sir.”

Singh cursed under his breath, soft but vicious. He grabbed the liner out of his trash can and stuffed it into the recycler. The air probably still smelled of sick. He turned the air recyclers as high as they would run to cut it.

“Put him through in one minute, please,” Singh answered, then used the sixty seconds to wash his face and rinse out his mouth. Trejo had returned to Medina. It could have meant a number of things, but all of them meant he wanted to have a face-to-face conversation instead of trading messages through the comparatively glacial security apparatus that surrounded official communications. And that meant talking about sensitive issues.

“Sonny,” Admiral Trejo said as he walked into the room. “You look a fright.”

“Yes, sir,” Singh agreed. “I’m afraid that recent events have shaken me a bit more than I expected. But I’m getting it secured. Shipshape and ready to sail, sir.”

“Have you slept at all?” Trejo asked. He sounded genuinely concerned.

“Yes, sir,” he said. And then, because it felt like lying, “Some, sir.”

“It’s hard losing someone. Especially someone you worked with closely.”

“I’ll be fine, sir,” Singh said. “Please, take my desk.”

Trejo’s smile was sympathetic as he sat. He took the offered desk. “I have good news for you, at least. I passed along your findings on the gamma-ray bursts through the rings, along with your recommendation about using a ship with an ultrahigh magnetic field projector stationed in the slow zone to control access and passage. Naval high command was very intrigued. They took it all the way to the top.”

The top meant only one person on Laconia. “I’m very flattered it got so much attention, Admiral.”

“He agrees with you,” Trejo said. His voice had a flatness that Singh didn’t entirely understand. His green eyes flicked up to meet Singh’s gaze and they stayed there. “They’re sending out the Eye of the Typhoon. It’ll take a bit for her to outfit. She wasn’t scheduled to come through for another four months, but you’ll have her with all deliberate speed. She’ll have Medina Station defense as her official mission, but holding the ring system using your new data will be part of her parameters.”

“Rear Admiral Song has that command, as I recall.”

“Yeah, that’s Song’s boat,” Trejo agreed. “But you’re still governor of Medina. You’ll have operational command over the defense of the station, and that includes determining when and if our new ring strategy is appropriate.”

“Yes, sir,” Singh replied.

“It’ll be heady stuff, knowing an admiral has to dance to your tune, Sonny. Just remember that this posting won’t last forever. Don’t make any enemies you can’t unmake.” There was a weight to Trejo’s words, like they carried more than just what they said. They landed on Singh’s chest like a gentle rebuke.

“Understood and appreciated, Admiral,” Singh said. “Will the Tempest remain here until the Typhoon arrives to take over?”

“No. We are moving up the timetable, per your analysis. The Tempest is leaving through the Sol gate in four hours. Unless you’ve reconsidered your position?”

Singh felt an offer in the question. This was the chance for him to say that he was out of his depth. That he needed backup and help. The temptation to claim perfect fitness was strong, but he couldn’t dismiss the fact that he was, in fact, compromised. The question was whether his own frailty was enough to risk giving Sol system more time to prepare. The most dangerous part of the Tempest’s mission in Sol system was the transit through the gate and the hours immediately after it. The longer the enemy had to exploit that period of vulnerability, the less the time he’d won with his discovery of the gamma burst would gain them. He didn’t want to undercut the advantage he’d just provided.

And still …

He started to reply, but stopped when the bitter-lemon taste of bile crept up the back of his throat again. Not now. He swallowed furiously, hoping this would be enough to hold off yet another round of vomiting into his trash bin. Trejo’s eyes widened with what looked like genuine concern.

“Sonny,” Trejo said, “have you seen a doctor?”

“Immediately following the attack. I sustained no injuries beyond a bruise on my knee and a bit of pride.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Trejo said.

“I’ll be fine,” Singh lied, but Trejo didn’t call him on it. “I know that the ring emissions were never part of the defensive strategy before, but I find myself worried about leaving such a powerful tool behind.”

“Understood. I’ll be honest, I’m not totally happy moving the timetable up. Slow and steady, that’s the strategy I like best. But there’s nothing so far to indicate the locals have made any breakthroughs we don’t know about. The high consul thinks we can afford to pull the Tempest out past the gate early. It does feel a bit like I’m leaving you here with your ass hanging out. But there is exactly one fleet in known space that poses a threat to our plans here. And it’s bottled up in the Sol system. You won’t need to worry about defending Medina from it at all, because I’m going to force them to fight me on their home ground. I don’t expect the colonies are going to cause you any trouble a destroyer can’t handle.”

“I agree, sir,” Singh said. “We’ll hold and wait for the Typhoon’s arrival, or word of your success in Sol, whichever comes first.”

Singh expected this to end the conversation, and waited for Admiral Trejo to stand. Instead, the old man stared at him with thoughtful eyes until the silence had become uncomfortable. Etiquette dictated that he not close the interview until his superior dismissed him, so he stared back and tried for a vague smile.

When Trejo spoke again, his voice was lower. “Tanaka filed her report. She’ll be boarding a shuttle shortly to take up a post on the Tempest.”

“Oh,” Singh replied, hoping it came off as casual.

“Don’t misunderstand me. She’s a fine operator, and her experience is more than welcome there. But if there are problems with her, I would like to know what they are.”

“I’m sure her talents will—” Singh started, but Trejo cut him off without raising his voice.

“If she’s going to take a command role on my ship, I’m going to need to understand why you removed her from yours,” the admiral said, his voice as gentle as though he’d asked for the time. “That’s what I’m asking you for.”

“Yes, sir,” Singh replied. If I understood it myself, he thought. The fury at everyone and everything that had followed the attack had faded, leaving behind only a vaguely unsettled feeling, like the adolescent fear of forgotten homework. Like there was something that needed to be done, something that would cause trouble if it wasn’t, but he had no idea what the thing was or even how to find out.

“Anytime, Sonny,” Trejo said.

Singh took a deep breath that stuttered a little. He hated that it did. “It was my feeling, at the time, that failing to respond to the attack on my person, and by extension on the authority of the high consul and the empire itself, would only serve to embolden any dissident elements here on the station. I felt that a strong response was needed to enforce the message that this was now our station, that we weren’t going anywhere, and that any attempt to hinder our work would fail. End the idea of a rebellion before it could begin.”

“And you believe Colonel Tanaka didn’t understand or support this position?” Trejo asked.

“She counseled a more conciliatory approach. I believe her experience in the Martian military guided her here, but that it was not experience that translated well to this new situation. She disagreed, and stated that she would not support the new security measures, deeming them too harsh. I relieved her at that point.”

“Why did her considerable experience not translate, do you think?” Trejo asked. The words could have been taken as mocking or rhetorical, but something in the old man’s voice made it seem like genuine curiosity.

If there’s no cover, the only thing to do is charge. How did he keep finding himself in these situations?

Singh cleared his throat. “Colonel Tanaka learned about rebel pacification by dealing with a belligerent but unaligned population. The Belters were not citizens of Mars, though they fell under Martian influence and regulation. To some degree, ‘winning hearts’ was always part of the mandate. She still thinks that way. She wants to approach this insurgency in that way. Crack down on only those involved in the attack, and attempt to win the cooperation of the rest of the populace through kindness.”