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“You could do that with a vat of bacteria,” Holden said.
“I’m not interested in remaking bacteria,” Dresden said.
“You’re f**king insane,” Amos said, and took another step toward Dresden. Holden put a hand on the big mechanic’s shoulder.
“So,” Holden said. “You figure out how the bug works, and then what?”
“Then everything. Belters who can work outside a ship without wearing a suit. Humans capable of sleeping for hundreds of years at a time flying colony ships to the stars. No longer being bound to the millions of years of evolution inside one atmosphere of pressure at one g, slaves to oxygen and water. We decide what we want to be, and we reprogram ourselves to be that. That’s what the protomolecule gives us.”
Dresden had stood back up as he’d delivered this speech, his face shining with the zeal of a prophet.
“What we are doing is the best and only hope of humanity’s survival. When we go out there, we will be facing gods.”
“And if we don’t go out?” Fred asked. He sounded thoughtful.
“They’ve already fired a doomsday weapon at us once,” Dresden said.
The room was silent for a moment. Holden felt his certainty slip. He hated everything about Dresden’s argument, but he couldn’t quite see his way past it. He knew in his bones that something about it was dead wrong, but he couldn’t find the words.
Naomi’s voice startled him.
“Did it convince them?” she asked.
“Excuse me?” Dresden said.
“The scientists. The technicians. Everyone you needed to make it happen. They actually had to do this. They had to watch the video of people dying all over Eros. They had to design those radioactive murder chambers. So unless you managed to round up every serial killer in the solar system and send them through a postgraduate program, how did you do this?”
“We modified our science team to remove ethical restraints.”
Half a dozen clues clicked into place in Holden’s head.
“Sociopaths,” he said. “You turned them into sociopaths.”
“High-functioning sociopaths,” Dresden said with a nod. He seemed pleased to explain it. “And extremely curious ones. As long as we kept them supplied with interesting problems to solve and unlimited resources, they remained quite content.”
“And a big security team armed with riot control rounds for when they aren’t,” Fred said.
“Yes, there are occasional issues,” Dresden said. He looked around, the slightest frown creasing his forehead. “I know. You think it’s monstrous, but I am saving the human race. I am giving humanity the stars. You disapprove? Fine. Let me ask you this. Can you save Eros? Right now.”
“No,” Fred said, “but we can—”
“Waste the data,” Dresden said. “You can make certain that every man, woman, and child who died on Eros died for nothing.”
The room was silent. Fred was frowning, his arms crossed. Holden understood the struggle going on in the man’s mind. Everything Dresden said was repulsive and eerie and rang too much of the truth.
“Or,” Dresden said, “we can negotiate a price, you can go on your way, and I can—”
“Okay. That’s enough,” Miller said, speaking for the first time since Dresden had begun his pitch. Holden glanced over at the detective. His flat expression had gone stony. He wasn’t tapping the barrel of his pistol against his leg.
Oh, shit.
Chapter Forty-Two: Miller
Dresden didn’t see it coming. Even as Miller raised the pistol, the man’s eyes didn’t register a threat. All he saw was Miller with an object in his hand that happened to be a gun. A dog would have known to be scared, but not Dresden.
“Miller!” Holden shouted from a great distance. “Don’t!”
Pulling the trigger was simple. A soft click, the bounce of metal against his glove-cushioned palm, and then again two more times. Dresden’s head snapped back, blooming red. Blood spattered a wide screen, obscuring the data stream. Miller stepped close, fired two more rounds into Dresden’s chest, considered for a moment, then holstered the pistol.
The room was silent. The OPA soldiers were all looking at each other or at Miller, surprised, even after the press of the assault, by the sudden violence. Naomi and Amos were looking at Holden, and the captain was staring at the corpse. Holden’s injured face was set as a mask; fury, outrage, maybe even despair. Miller understood that. Doing the obvious thing still wasn’t natural for Holden. There had been a time when it hadn’t come so easily for Miller either.
Only Fred didn’t flinch or look nervous. The colonel didn’t smile or frown, and he didn’t look away.
“What the f**k was that?” Holden said through his blood-plugged nose. “You shot him in cold blood!”
“Yeah,” Miller said.
Holden shook his head. “What about a trial? What about justice? You just decide, and that’s the way it goes?”
“I’m a cop,” Miller said, surprised by the apology in his voice.
“Are you even human anymore?”
“All right, gentlemen!” Fred said, his voice booming out in the quiet. “Show’s over. Let’s get back to work. I want the decryption team in here. We’ve got prisoners to evacuate and a station to strip down.”
Holden looked from Fred to Miller to the still-dying Dresden. His jaw was set with rage.
“Hey, Miller,” Holden said.
“Yeah?” Miller said softly. He knew what was coming.
“Find your own ride home,” the captain of the Rocinante said, then spun and stalked out of the room, his crew following. Miller watched them walk away. Regret tapped gently at his heart, but there was nothing to be done about it. The broken bulkhead seemed to swallow them. Miller turned to Fred.
“Hitch a lift?”
“You’re wearing our colors,” Fred said. “We’ll get you as far as Tycho.”
“I appreciate that,” Miller said. Then, a moment later: “You know it had to be done.”
Fred didn’t reply. There wasn’t anything to say.
Thoth Station was injured, but not dead. Not yet. Word of the sociopathic crew spread fast, and the OPA forces took the warning to heart. The occupation and control phase of the attack lasted forty hours instead of the twenty that it would have taken with normal prisoners. With humans. Miller did what he could with prisoner control.
