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Had it really gone so far that the inner planets would be willing to lose a major station? It seemed like it had if Earth was abandoning Ceres. The OPA would step in, whether it wanted to or not. The power vacuum was too great. Then Mars would call it an OPA coup. Then… Then what? Board it and put it under martial law? That was the good answer. Nuke it into dust? He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that either. There was just too much money involved. Docking fees alone would fuel a small national economy. And Shaddid and Dawes—much as he hated it—were right. Ceres under Earth contract had been the best hope for a negotiated peace.
Was there someone on Earth who didn’t want that peace? Someone or something powerful enough to move the glacial bureaucracy of the United Nations to take action?
“What am I looking at, Julie?” he said to the empty air. “What did you see out there that’s worth Mars and the Belt killing each other?”
The station hummed to itself, a quiet, constant sound too soft for him to hear the voices within it.
Muss didn’t come to work in the morning, but there was a message on his system telling him she’d be in late. “Cleanup” was her only explanation.
To look at it, nothing about the station house had changed. The same people coming to the same place to do the same thing. No, that wasn’t true. The energy was high. People were smiling, laughing, clowning around. It was a manic high, panic pressed through a cheesecloth mask of normalcy. It wasn’t going to last.
They were all that separated Ceres from anarchy. They were the law, and the difference between the survival of six million people and some mad bastard forcing open all the airlocks or poisoning the recyclers rested on maybe thirty thousand people. People like him. Maybe he should have rallied, risen to the occasion like the rest of them. The truth was the thought made him tired.
Shaddid marched by and tapped him on the shoulder. He sighed, rose from his chair, and followed her. Dawes was in her office again, looking shaken and sleep deprived. Miller nodded to him. Shaddid crossed her arms, her eyes softer and less accusing than he’d become used to.
“This is going to be tough,” she said. “We’re facing something harder than anything we’ve had to do before. I need a team I can trust with my life. Extraordinary circumstances. You understand that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I got it. I’ll stop drinking, get myself together.”
“Miller. You’re not a bad person at heart. There was a time you were a pretty good cop. But I don’t trust you, and we don’t have time to start over,” Shaddid said, her voice as near to gentle as he had ever heard it. “You’re fired.”
Chapter Nineteen: Holden
Fred stood alone, hand outstretched, a warm and open smile on his broad face. There were no guards with assault rifles behind him. Holden shook Fred’s hand and then started laughing. Fred smiled and looked confused but let Holden keep a grip on his hand, waiting for Holden to explain what was so funny.
“I’m sorry, but you have no idea how pleasant this is,” Holden said. “This is literally the first time in over a month that I’ve gotten off a ship without it blowing up behind me.”
Fred laughed with him now, an honest laugh that seemed to originate somewhere in his belly.
After a moment the man said, “You’re quite safe here. We are the most protected station in the outer planets.”
“Because you’re OPA?” Holden asked.
Fred shook his head.
“No. We make campaign contributions to Earth and Mars politicians in amounts that would make a Hilton blush,” he said. “If anyone blows us up, half the UN assembly and all of the Martian Congress will be howling for blood. It’s the problem with politics. Your enemies are often your allies. And vice versa.”
Fred gestured to a doorway behind him and motioned for everyone to follow. The ride was short, but halfway through, gravity reappeared, shifting in a disorienting swoop. Holden stumbled. Fred looked chagrined.
“I’m sorry. I should have warned you about that. The central hub’s null g. Moving into the ring’s rotational gravity can be awkward the first time.”
“I’m fine,” Holden said. Naomi’s brief smile might only have been his imagination.
A moment later the elevator door opened onto a wide carpeted corridor with walls of pale green. It had the reassuring smell of air scrubbers and fresh carpet glue. Holden wouldn’t have been surprised to find they were piping ‘new space station’ scent into the air. The doors that led off the corridor were made of faux wood distinguishable from the real thing only because nobody had that much money. Of all his crew, Holden was almost certainly the only one who had grown up in a house with real wooden furniture and fixtures. Amos had grown up in Baltimore. They hadn’t seen a tree there in more than a century.
Holden pulled off his helmet and turned around to tell his crew to do the same, but theirs were already off. Amos looked up and down the corridor and whistled.
“Nice digs, Fred,” he said.
“Follow me, I’ll get you settled in,” Fred replied, leading them down the corridor. As he walked, he spoke. “Tycho Station has undergone a number of refurbishments over the last hundred years, as you might guess, but the basics haven’t changed much. It was a brilliant design to begin with; Malthus Tycho was an engineering genius. His grandson, Bredon, runs the company now. He isn’t on station at the moment. Down the well at Luna negotiating the next big deal.”
Holden said, “Seems like you have a lot on your plate already, with that monster parked outside. And, you know, a war going on.”
A group of people in jumpsuits of various colors walked past, talking animatedly. The corridor was so wide that no one had to give way. Fred gestured at them as they went by.
“First shift’s just ending, so this is rush hour,” he said. “It’s actually time to start drumming up new work. The Nauvoo is almost done. They’ll be loading colonists on her in six months. Always have to have the next project lined up. The Tycho spends eleven million UN dollars every day she’s in operation, whether we make money that day or not. It’s a big nut to cover. And the war… well, we’re hoping that’s temporary.”
“And now you’re taking in refugees. That won’t help,” Holden said.
Fred just laughed and said, “Four more people won’t put us in the poorhouse anytime soon.”
