The younger captain’s expression shifted.
“You what?”
“I know how to get the protomolecule to take us all off of lockdown,” he said, and went on to explain all of what he’d told Captain Jakande again—seeing Miller, the plan to lull the station into a lower alert level so that the dead man could shut it down—fighting to sound calm, rational, and sane as he did it. He didn’t go so far as the massive civilization-destroying invasion that had wiped out the protomolecule’s creators. It all sounded bad enough without that.
Pa listened carefully, her face a mask. She wasn’t someone he’d want to play poker against. He had the powerful, painful memory of Naomi telling him that she’d teach him how to play poker, and his throat closed.
The security man with the white beard floated up, two angry-looking Martians matching vector behind him.
“Captain?” the Belter said, barely restrained rage in his voice.
“Just a minute, Mister Gutmansdottir,” she said, then turned back to Holden. She had to be overwhelmed, but it was only a tightness in her jaw, if it was even that much. “I’ll… take that under advisement, but for the immediate future—”
“My crew?”
“They’re in the civilian medical bay,” Pa said, and the white-bearded man cleared his throat in a way that meant he hadn’t needed to. “There are directions posted. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Captain, there’s a load of contraband among the new prisoners,” Gutmansdottir said, hitting the last word hard. “Thought you’d want to address that before it got to Bull.”
Pa took a deep breath and pushed off after her security man. A few seconds later, Holden realized he hadn’t been dismissed so much as forgotten. Fallen down the list of things that the young captain had to do right now, and so fuck him. He moved out past the transition point and to the platforms where the axis of the little world spun. There was a long ramp for carts, and he shuffled down it, the spin slowly shifting from pure Coriolis to the sensation of weight. He could feel in his knees how long he’d been on the float and hoped that the medical bays weren’t too far away.
If they’d been on the far side of the system, though, he’d have grabbed an EVA suit, as much spare air as he could haul, and started out, though. The idea that he was breathing the same air as Naomi and Alex and Amos was like a drug.
Only Captain Pa hadn’t actually said that. All she’d said was that his crew was there. The “remaining” might have been implied. He tried to jog, but got winded after only a couple of minutes and had to pause to catch his breath.
The great body of the drum stretched out before him, a world wrapped into a tube. The long strip of the false sun glowed white above him, now that there was a clear “above,” and reached out across two kilometers to a swirling ramp at the other end, the mirror of the one he was on. Thin clouds drifted in tori around the unbearable brightness. The air clung to him, the heat pressing at his skin, but he could imagine the bare metal of the drum’s surface covered in green, the air sweet with the scent of apple blossoms, the cycle of evaporation and condensation cooling it all. Or if not, at least making it into a long, permanent summer afternoon.
It was a dream. Someone else’s and doomed now to failure, but worthy. Beautiful, even in ruins.
“Captain Holden? Can I speak with you?”
It was a small woman with bright red hair pulled into tight braids, and wearing a plain brown suit. She was the sort of very comfortable middle-aged that always made him think of his mothers.
“My name is Annushka Volovodov,” she said with a smile. “But you can call me Anna if you like.”
“You can call me Jim,” he said, holding out a hand. He almost had his wind back. Anna shook his hand without a hint of fear. His “most dangerous man in the solar system” reputation must not have reached her yet. “Eastern European?”
“Russian,” she replied with a nod. “Born in Kimry. But a Muscovite for most of my adult life. North American?”
“Montana. Farming collective.”
“I hear Montana is nice.”
“Population density is good. Still more cows than people.”
Anna nodded and plucked at her suit. Holden got the sense that she actually had something she wanted to say but was having a hard time getting to the point. “Kimry was like that. It’s a tourist place you know, the lakes—” Anna started.
“Anna,” Holden cut her off gently. “Do you need to say something to me?”
“I do,” she said. “I need to ask you not to tell anyone about Clarissa, and what she did.”
Holden nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Who’s Clarissa and what did she do?”
The woman tilted her head.
“They didn’t tell you?”
“I don’t think they liked me much,” Holden said. “Is there something I should know?”
“Well, this is awkward. Just after the catastrophe, a girl calling herself Melba attacked your ship,” Anna said. “It’s a long story, but I followed her and tried to help. Your first officer? Naomi? She was hurt in the attack. Badly.”
Holden felt the universe contract. Naomi was hurt while he’d been dicking around with Miller on the station. His hands were shaking.
“Where is she?” he asked, not sure if he meant Naomi or the woman who’d hurt her.
“Naomi’s here. They brought her over to the Behemoth,” Anna said. “She’s in the medical bay right now receiving treatment. They assure me she’ll recover. The rest of your crew is here too. They were hurt earlier. When the speed limit changed.”
“They’re alive?”
“Yes,” Anna said. “They are.”
The mix of relief and sorrow and anger and guilt made the ship seem to spin a little beneath him. Anna put a hand on his arm to steady him.
“Who is this Melba and why did she attack my crew?”
“It’s not her real name. My friend knows her, knows her family. Apparently she has something of an obsession with you. Her name is Clarissa Mao.”
Mao.
The mysterious and powerful Julie. The Julie rebuilt by the protomolecule like his ghostly Miller. The Julie who had hired Cohen the soundman to hack their ship, the Julie he’d sculpted for them later who’d never looked quite right. The Julie who’d been manipulating every detail of his life for the last year just to get them through the gate and down to the station.
It wasn’t Julie at all.
“She’s not well,” Anna was saying, “but I believe that she can be reached. If there’s time. But if they kill her—”
“Where’s Naomi? Do you know where she is?”
“I do,” Anna said. And then, “I’m sorry. I may have been a little wrapped up in my own issue. Can I take you there?”
“Please,” Holden said.
Fifteen minutes later, Holden stepped into a small room in the medical ward that his little family had to themselves. Naomi lay on a gurney, one arm in an inflatable cast. Her face was mottled with half-healed bruises. Tears stung his eyes, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. A killing rage burned in him. This wasn’t a disaster. It wasn’t an accident. Someone had done this to her.
When she saw him, her smile was gentle and amused.
“Hey,” she said. In a moment, he was at her side, holding her good hand, his throat too thick for speech. There were tears in Naomi’s eyes too, but no anger. He was amazed how grateful he was for that.
“Anna,” Naomi said. She looked genuinely pleased to see her, which was a good start. “Jim, you met Anna? She saved me from the psycho with the demolition mech.”
“Saved us too, I guess,” Amos said. “So thanks for that, Red. I guess I owe you one.”
It took Holden a moment to realize that “Red” meant Anna. She seemed surprised by it too.