James Corey - Abaddon's Gate

“Really?” he said

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he said, pulling a bulb of the fake coffee from the machine and drifting over to the table. “That was pretty impressive, then.”

She imagined him working, the mask down to hide his face, the sparks, the flickering of his great hunched shadow. Hephaestus, the smith of the Gods, laboring in his underworld. It was the kind of association Clarissa Mao would make. Melba Koh would only have thought about the temperature of the arc, the composition of the plates he was fusing together. She could have both of those thoughts, but neither were really hers.

She was on the float now. Later, when the ship was under way and thrust gravity pinned her to the deck, she’d still be on the float. Her world had been constructed around stories about who she was. Jules-Pierre’s daughter, Julie Mao’s sister, the crew lead on the Cerisier , instrument of her father’s vengeance. Now she was no one. She was a piece of baggage on her old enemy’s ship going from one prison to another, and she didn’t even resent it. The last time she’d felt this nameless, she’d probably been in an amniotic sac.

“What was the problem?”

“Hmm?”

“You said I really did a number on something. What’s the problem?”

“Deck hatch between the machine shop and here gets stuck. Ever since you crumpled it up. Binds about half open.”

“Did you check the retracting arm?”

Amos turned to her, frowning. She shrugged.

“Sometimes these door actuators put on an uneven load when they start to burn out. We probably swapped out four or five of them on the trip out here.”

“Yeah?”

“Just a thought,” she said. And then a moment later, “When we get back to Luna, they’re going to kill me, aren’t they?”

“If you’re lucky, yeah. UN still has the death penalty on the books, but they don’t use it much. I figure you’ll be living in a tiny cell for the rest of your life. If it was me, I’d prefer a bullet.”

“How long until we get there?”

“About five weeks.”

They were silent for a moment.

“I’ll miss this place,” she said.

Amos shrugged.

“Actuator arm, huh? Worth checking. You want to help me take a look?”

“I can’t,” she said, gesturing at the clamp on her leg.

“Shit, I can reprogram that. Least enough to get you down to the machine shop. We’ll grab you a tool belt, Peaches. Let’s crack that thing open.”

An hour later, she was running her hand over the frame of the door, looking for the telltale scrape of binding sites. This was me , she thought. I broke it .

“What’cha think, Peaches?” Amos asked from behind her.

“Feels good to fix something,” she said.

Anna sat in the observation lounge of the Thomas Prince and looked out at the stars.

The lounge was a dome-shaped room where every flat surface was a high-definition screen displaying a 360-degree view of the outside. To Anna, sitting in it felt like flying through space on a park bench. It had become her favorite place on the ship, with the stars burning in their bright steady colors, no atmosphere to make them twinkle. They felt so close now. Like she could reach out and touch them.

Her hand terminal beeped at her to remind her that she was in the middle of recording a video message. She deleted the time she’d spent looking at the stars and started the recording again.

“So, that letter from the conference bishop turned out to be a request for a formal meeting. Apparently some people have complained about me. Probably Ashford. Neck deep in his own legal problems with the OPA and still finding time to make trouble for everyone else. But don’t worry about it. They’ll ask, I’ll answer, I’ve got pretty good reasons for everything I did. I have lots of offers of support from people I worked with on the fleet. I probably won’t need them. Speaking of which, I’ve invited my friend Tilly Fagan to come visit us in Moscow. She’s abrasive and cranky and has no social filters at all. You’ll love her. She can’t wait to meet Nami.”

Anna paused to attach a picture she’d taken of Tilly to the message. Tilly was looking at the camera through narrowed eyes, just seconds from telling Anna to “get that fucking thing out of my face.” She held a cigarette in one hand; her other was pointing accusingly. It was not the nicest picture of Tilly she had, but it was the most accurate.

“Speaking of Nami, thank you so much for the videos you sent. I can’t believe how enormous she’s gotten. And crawling around in full gravity like she was born to it. She’ll be walking again in no time. Thank you for taking her home. Sometimes I wish I’d just gone with you. Most of the time, actually. But then I think about all the things I did inside the Ring, and I wonder if any of it would have turned out as well if I hadn’t helped. It seems arrogant to think that way, but I also believe that God nudges people toward the places they need to be. Maybe I was needed. I still plan on being very contrite when I get back. You, the bishop, Nami, my family, I have a lot of apologizing to do.”

As clear as if she’d been in the room, Anna heard Nono say, You never ask for permission, you just apologize later . She laughed until her eyes watered. She wiped them and said to the camera, “You’re still here, Nono. Still in my head. But I’d trade anything to have you hold me. The Prince will take another month to get back. It’s an eternity. I love you.”

She picked up the pillow she’d brought with her and held it tight to her chest. “This is you and Nami. This is both of you. I love you both so much.”

She killed the recording and sent it off, winging ahead of the Prince to Nono at the speed of light. Still too slow. She wiped away the tears that had accumulated at the corners of her eyes.

Outside, a flare of white light lit the sky, a line of fire a few centimeters long. Another ship in the flotilla, returning home. One of the Prince ’s escort ships, to be so close. Finally going back, but without many of the sailors she’d brought to the Ring. Families would be waiting for her to bring their loved ones home, only to receive flags, posthumous medals, letters of sympathy. It wouldn’t be enough to fill the holes those lost people left in their lives. It was never enough.

But the ships from Earth, Mars, and the various stations of the outer planets were going home. And they were bringing news of the greatest opportunity humanity had ever been offered. In the midst of all the sadness and tragedy, hope.

Would Nami spend her life at one of those points of light she could see right now? It was possible. Her baby had been born into a world where her parents couldn’t afford to give her a sibling, where she’d have to work two years just to prove to the government she was worth receiving an education. Where resources were rapidly diminishing, and the battle to keep the waste from piling up used more and more of what was left.

But she’d grow up in a world without limits. Where a short trip took you to one of the stars, and the bounty of worlds circling them. Where what job you did or what education you pursued or how many children you had was your choice, not a government mandate.

It was dizzying to think of.

Someone walked into the lounge behind her, their footsteps clicking. “Tilly, I just sent—” Anna started, but stopped when she turned around and saw Hector Cortez.

“Doctor Volovodov,” he said, his tone a mild apology.

“Doctor Cortez,” she replied. The renewed formality between them seemed silly to Anna, but Hector insisted on it. “Please, sit.” She patted the bench next to her.