The embedded data was structured as environmental-control buffers, and it was half again the size of the Roci’s. Naomi popped it open and glanced at the gross index. A lot of familiar parts, yes, but some strangeness in the large-scale structure. If it was anything like the other bits of the Gathering Storm’s operating code they’d harvested for analysis, it would get weirder the deeper in she went. She dropped it to a secure partition in the Roci and started unpacking it with her favorite tools, converting the language of the ships into something with handholds that her mind could brace on.
She set her hand terminal to Record. “Dataset received and in process. It may take me a day or two, but I’ll let you know what I think. In the meantime, all is well down here. No need for rescue.”
It was the rule. Somewhere in the message she sent up the well, there was always the word rescue and always would be until she needed one. Bobbie’s word was progress. A message went back and forth every twenty-four hours at a minimum. Not that there was any real risk that Naomi could see, but protocol was protocol. The locals on Freehold had been at least willing to listen when they’d arrived with Payne Houston in tow, and there had been nothing but cautious goodwill since. Not that Naomi trusted that to last. The colony of Freehold would support her in her guise as a refugee and freedom fighter as long as it was convenient for them. She understood that having the only gunship in the system and a ring gate far enough away that she’d have a free hand how to use it for weeks before help could arrive figured into the local council’s calculus of the situation.
Bobbie’s improvised crew of Belters were with her on a little moon circling one of Freehold’s three gas giants, tucked in an ancient lava tube and showing no signs of mutiny. Bobbie as captain and Amos as acting XO would, Naomi thought, be more than enough to ensure discipline. It also gave Freehold another reason to play nice, and a spare set of eyes on the ring gate in case anything nasty came through.
The Storm was slow to give up its secrets, not because of the internal security—though that was an issue—as much as the profound unfamiliarity of some of its technology. Its reliance on calcium, for instance, was an order of magnitude more than Naomi had ever seen, and the vacuum channels it used instead of wiring still made her head ache a little if she thought about them too much. With enough time, though, she was certain they’d come to understand the ship. On her good days, she thought they’d be ready, even if she wasn’t sure yet what they were getting ready for.
While the Roci arranged the data for her and the kibble broke down pleasantly in her stomach, she lay back and let her eyes close for a few minutes. Her knees ached. Her spine ached. It wasn’t even the gravity of Freehold. This world was smaller than Mars, and only a little bit denser. She’d been on long burns worse than this. Part of the problem was that she wasn’t doing her exercises. She was doing work, and there turned out to be a suite of small, neglected muscles that had atrophied over the years and weren’t happy to be put into service clearing vegetation and crawling around the bottom of a gravity well.
There was also, she suspected, something of a placebo effect. She’d spent so many years equating life in free atmosphere on a planetary surface with a constant, grinding full g, that now even though the gravity was actually fairly mild, she was primed to notice the discomfort. She expected it, and so it was there.
The Rocinante chimed to announce the completion of the data run, and then again almost immediately to announce Alex’s return. It was less than a minute before she heard him walking up the hallway that was usually the lift tube. He was singing to himself. A light, lilting melody with words she didn’t recognize.
“In here,” she called as he came close.
Alex poked his head into the galley. He was more comfortable going into town, and the combination of long walks and sunlight had darkened his skin and given him his cheekbones back.
“Hola,” he said. “Good news from Freehold. We’re a business!”
He lifted his right arm. The satchel in it was heavy with batteries ready to be recharged. It was a minor convenience for the township to have Alex come by and collect batteries, recharge them from the Roci’s reactor, and deliver them again full up instead of waiting for their turn at the solar array. So Freehold’s poor foresight on solar energy was now their cottage industry. At least for now.
Alex’s grin widened. “And …”
“And?”
He lifted his left hand. A second satchel. “They paid in beer and curried goat. I’ve got a little cook fire started outside. It’s going to be great.”
Naomi started to say that she’d just eaten, but the joy in Alex’s eyes was infectious. She swung herself up to sitting. “On my way,” she said.
The moons weren’t shining in the valley when she reached the airlock, but Alex’s little cook fire was glowing happily next to the landing strut, and the stars glittered between the floating vines above them. They burned dried-out vines and the shed carapaces of huge, slow-moving animals that lived in shallow caves all up and down the valley. The smoke was pale and fragrant. The shards of carapace popped and cracked now and then, sending little sprays of spark up with the smoke to vanish as they cooled. The smoke kept away the night hoppers—tiny, nocturnal insect-like animals that usually found humans fascinating.
Alex had two skewers of meat dripping grease and curry onto the flames, and Naomi had to admit that they smelled better than kibble. She sat with her back against the landing strut. Alex took a bottle from his satchel, opened its neck, and passed it over. The beer was cold and rich and more biting than she’d expected.
“Robust,” she said.
“Danielle likes a higher proof than some brewers,” Alex said with a smile as he leaned back to look at the vines and the sky beyond them.
“Seems like you’re getting along well with the locals.”
“They’re all right,” Alex said. “Just don’t get them talking about the nature of sovereignty and you’re fine. Even then you’re all right, it’s just a conversation they’ve all had a lot. Tends to go along the ground they’ve already plowed.”
He reached over and turned the skewers. High above them, something set off one of the vine bladders, and it glowed a pale yellow-green for a moment, then went dark again.
“Good to build rapport,” Naomi said. “Freehold’s going to have to look like a polite, compliant little colony for a while.”
“No trouble. The council’s on board for an ‘enemy-of-my-enemy, hail Laconia, down with the union’ stance. For the time being anyway. I think they kind of like having us here, actually. The founding impulse of Freehold is sticking it to the government.”
“Loses some of its shine after you get elected.”
“Right?” Alex tested the curried meat with his finger, pinching and releasing fast enough that he didn’t get burned. He handed it over to Naomi. She waved it in the night air for a moment to let it cool, then took the first cube off the end and popped it in her mouth. The char on the meat was good. The spices that infused it were better. She chewed slowly, letting herself enjoy it.
“Do you think they’ll sell us out?”
“Eventually, sure,” Alex said cheerfully. “But not right away. And probably not for cheap, so long as they like us.”