“You want me to kick on the main drive?” Alex asked. “I could slag that whole palace if you want.”
Before Naomi could answer, Holden did. “No, leave it be. We still have friends there. Elvi, for one.”
“Oh. Should we go get her?”
Holden shook his head, even though Alex wasn’t looking at him. “No. She’s where she needs to be.”
He’d been on the ship for less than fifteen minutes, and he was answering like he was the captain. If she’d pointed it out, he would have been horrified. And apologetic, and maybe in some other context she would have expected the apology. She was, after all, the head of the underground, the engineer behind the campaign and a hundred other operations besides. The pleasure of having him back, of feeling herself and Alex and the ship falling into ancient patterns, was more than she could express. It was like waking up after a long and terrible dream to find that whatever it was hadn’t actually happened.
In all her long life, it was maybe the most beautiful moment she’d ever had.
It couldn’t last.
She felt Alex flying the ship inside Laconia’s atmosphere, sliding them above the landscape and rising up above it until the drive plume wouldn’t be a danger to anyone below. When the main drive kicked on, they shot up, rising through the last of the atmosphere and into the light of the Laconian sun. As Alex laid in their course for the ring gate, Naomi checked the tactical map for her fleet. The burns they were all under were punishing. By keeping on the edge of what human endurance would allow, they made it less likely that the Laconian ships would reach them. And the enemy ships themselves . . .
She pulled up an overlay that showed the destroyers and the Magnetar-class battleship. It was like looking over and finding a centipede on her arm. The target-lock alert came on, cutting through the merriment and joy like a scalpel.
“Alex?”
“We been target locked. We took too long. It’s the Whirlwind.”
Naomi laid down a sensor feed over her tactical display. The Magnetar was still almost nothing without magnification. Hardly more than a pale spot of darkness in the middle of the steady star that was its drive plume. With only a little magnification, though, it was the same eerie almost-organic shape as the Tempest. The bone-pale vertebra of an unimaginably huge animal. A ship like that had brought two navies to their knees. A single frigate with its supplies nearly drained already didn’t stand a chance. All her joy collapsed to ashes. She wondered whether Duarte would let her see Jim when they were both in prison. Whether they’d even be allowed the option of surrender. Fighting down through the planetary defenses had taken four ships and cost one of them. Or, depending on the next few minutes, maybe two.
At least the Whirlwind was the last Magnetar that would ever be built. She’d broken the construction platforms, so at least that. If she died in the effort—if they all did—Bobbie would still have approved. Some sacrifices were worth it.
“We have a tightbeam request incoming from the Whirlwind,” Ian said. His voice only shook a little.
“Let’s have it,” Naomi said, and Ian looked at her. The uncertainty in his eyes was clear. He didn’t know if she was going to surrender or lead them all into death. She wasn’t perfectly certain herself. “Now, Kefilwe. This won’t get better by waiting.”
He put the incoming message on every display, though only Naomi’s was live. She didn’t know if he meant to pressure her by letting the whole crew see the exchange or if he was nervous and screwed up. It didn’t make a difference.
The woman on her screen was young, with dark skin and straight, close-cropped hair. She wore Laconian blue and the rank insignia of an admiral, the same style that Mars used to use. The rage in her eyes gave Naomi very little hope.
“I am Admiral Sandrine Gujarat, commander of the Laconian battleship Voice of the Whirlwind. You have thirty seconds to drop core, deactivate your weapons systems, and open your airlock for boarding. Failure to do exactly as you are told will result in the destruction of your ship.”
Thirty seconds. Naomi raised her chin in defiance. If she was taken, they would get everything she knew eventually. The networks and contacts in dozens of systems. The long-term plans and strategies. Everything she’d built in all the time she’d spent working for Saba and then taking his place. It had made her into a perfect asset for the enemy. A ship full of her people stood breathless, waiting for her to decide whether to give them all over or let them all die. It was like being crushed under a hundred gs and weightless at the same time.
The voice that answered wasn’t hers. It wasn’t even one she knew.
“No, Admiral Gujarat. It will not end in anybody’s destruction. You will stand down at once.”
On her screen, the admiral’s eyes widened in anger, but also in confusion. Naomi craned her neck to see the girl who had spoken. She was in a crash couch, gesturing that the comms control should be transferred to her. Naomi hesitated for a moment, then went with it. When the Roci’s feed showed the girl’s face, the Laconian admiral paled.
“Do you know who I am, Admiral?”
“I don’t . . . The high consul—”
“Yes, I am the high consul’s daughter and heir,” the girl said. “You understand now. Good. I am on the Rocinante at my father’s request. Your threat is ridiculous and your orders are to return immediately to your assigned mission protecting the homeworld.”
The girl couldn’t be sixteen yet, but her voice had an easy arrogance. Naomi turned to Jim and mouthed, Is that true? He lifted his hands in a Belter shrug.
“Miss,” the admiral said, unconsciously bowing as she did, “you are . . . I was unaware . . . This is very irregular, miss. I’m afraid I can’t allow this ship to go anywhere.”
The girl rolled her eyes dramatically. “Is there a protocol? A security protocol?”
“I’m sorry?”
“If I am in distress, being held against my will. Threatened. Whatever. Is there a phrase I use to indicate that? Something innocuous I can slip into any conversation without my captors knowing it?”
“I . . . That is—”
“It’s a yes-or-no question, Admiral. This isn’t hard.” At this rate, the Whirlwind was going to nuke them to be rid of the girl.
“There is, miss,” Admiral Gujarat said.
“And have I said it?”
“You haven’t.”
“Then we can take it as given that I am not here under duress. That something is going on between the high consul and the leadership of the underground—something with which I have been entrusted and you haven’t. With that in mind? Go. Back. To. Your. Post.”
The woman on the screen squared her shoulders. “I have orders from Admiral Trejo that—”
“Stop,” the girl said. “What’s his name?”
“Whose?”
“Admiral Anton Trejo. What is his last name?”
“Trejo?”
“Yes,” the girl said, and leaned close to the camera so that her whole face filled the screen. She spoke softly and with an incandescent rage. “Mine is Duarte.”
“I’m sorry, miss,” the admiral said. “I can’t let your ship leave.”
“No?” the girl said. “Then shoot me the fuck down.” She dropped the connection and turned to Alex, staring down at her slack jawed. “We can go. That woman is scared to death right now.”
“Prepare for high burn?” Alex announced over the ship-wide channel, and the girl nodded curtly and settled back in her couch.
“Jim?” Naomi said.
“I know,” he said. “It’s been a really weird day.”
“We thought you were dead,” Naomi said as she stepped into the lift.
Amos blinked his unnerving black eyes, then shrugged. “Yeah, I can see that, Boss. What can I tell you? Sorry.”
Eight hours of high burn had taken them out of the Whirlwind’s effective range. Fifteen had increased the distance to the point that she almost felt safe. Not safe safe, but close enough that she could imagine stepping away from the ops deck and starting to make sense of everything that had happened, hearing everything that had brought Jim and Amos back. And how Teresa Duarte fit into it.
And also to tell them what had happened during their long and separate pilgrimages. What they had lost. With the four of them together, Alex had asked for the ceremony. As if the universe had given them a chance, and he was worried that if he didn’t take it now, it would somehow slip away. And she and Amos were heading to the airlock together again, as if the past had returned. But as if it had returned changed.
The changes to Amos were odd. His skin was somehow pale and dark at the same time, like a thin coat of white paint over black. His eyes were darkness, and there was something strange about the way he moved. But after so long, being able to think of him without grief and worry made the alterations only interesting. It was so much better than what she’d already carried with him. With losing him.
“I’d have called earlier, but . . . Well, I wasn’t ready to go. I was being patient.”
“What happened?”