Sakai opened his mouth, shut it. And then it was like watching a mask fall away. His features settled into an image of perfect, burning hatred.
“You know what?” Sakai said. “Fuck you.”
Fred sat still, his expression set. It was like he hadn’t heard the words at all. Sakai clenched his jaw and scowled at the silence until the pressure built up and it became too much to bear.
“You arrogant fucking Earthers. All of you. Out here in the Belt leading the poor skinnies to salvation? Is that who you think you are? Do you have any idea how fucking patronizing you are? All of you. All of you. The Belt doesn’t need Earther bitches like you to save us. We save ourselves, and you assholes can pay for it, yeah?”
Holden felt a flush of anger rising in his chest, but Fred’s voice was calm and soft.
“I’m hearing you say you resent me for being from Earth. Am I getting that right?”
Sakai leaned back on the stool, caught his balance, then turned and spat on the decking. Fred waited again, but this time Sakai let the silence stretch. After a few moments Fred shrugged, then sighed and stood up. When he leaned forward and hit Sakai it was such a simple, pedestrian movement, Holden wasn’t even shocked until Sakai fell over. Blood poured down the engineer’s lip.
“I have given up my life and the lives of people I care for a hell of a lot more than you to protect and defend the Belt,” Fred growled. “And I am not in the mood to have some jumped-up terrorist piece of shit tell me different.”
“I’m not scared of you,” Sakai said in a voice that made it very clear to Holden he was desperately scared. Holden was a little unnerved himself. He’d seen Fred Johnson angry before, but the white-hot rage radiating from the man now was another thing entirely. Fred’s eyes didn’t flicker. This was the man who had led armies and massacred thousands. The killer. Sakai shrank from his pitiless regard like it was a physical blow.
“Drummer!”
The head of security opened the door and stepped in. If she was surprised, it didn’t show in her face. Fred didn’t look at her.
“Mister Drummer, take this piece of shit to the brig. Put him in an isolation cell, and be sure he gets enough kibble and water that he doesn’t die. No one in, no one out. And I want a complete audit of his station presence. Who he’s talked to. Who he’s traded messages with. How often he’s taken a shit. Everything goes through code analysis.”
“Yes, sir,” Drummer said, paused. And then, “Should I take the station off lockdown?”
“No,” Fred said.
“Yes, sir,” Drummer repeated, and then helped Sakai to his feet and ushered him out the door. Holden cleared his throat.
“We need to double-check the work on the Rocinante,” he said, “because there’s no way I’m flying something that guy did the safety inspections for.”
Monica whistled low.
“Schismatic OPA faction?” she said. “Well. It wouldn’t be the first time a revolutionary leader was targeted by the extreme wing of his own side.”
“It wouldn’t,” Fred agreed. “What bothers me is that they’re feeling secure enough to tip their hand.”
Chapter Nineteen: Naomi
T
he beer was vat-brewed: rich and yeasty with a little fungal aftertaste where the hops had been cut with engineered mushrooms. Karal was making hot-plate cousa: thin, unleavened cracker bread heavy with gum roux and hot onion. With Cyn and Naomi and a new man named Miral sharing air with Karal and the hot plate both, the recyclers were working near their top rate for the space. The heat and the spiced air, the closeness of bodies and the just-buzzed relaxation of the alcohol felt like falling backward through time. Like if she opened the door, it wouldn’t be the dockside grunge of Ceres Station but Rokku’s ship burning for the next claim or the next port.
“So Josie,” Cyn said, waving one vast palm. He paused and turned a scowl to Naomi. “Kennst Josie?”
“I remember which one he is,” Naomi said.
“Yeah, so Josie sets up shop there, sa sa? Start charging the Earthers to go down the corridor. Calls it…” – Cyn snapped three times, trying to call up the story’s punch line – “calls it a municipal tollway. Tollway!”
“And how long did that last?” Naomi asked.
“Long enough we had to get off station before security grabbed us,” Cyn said around a grin. Then he grew sober. “That was before, though.”
“Before,” Naomi agreed, lifting her glass. “Everything changed after Eros.”
“Everything changed after the fuckers killed the Cant,” Miral said, eyes narrowed at Naomi as if to say That was your ship, wasn’t it? Another invitation for her to tell her stories.