James Corey - Nemesis Games

“Bull,” Fred said, raising his glass again.

“And Sam,” Holden added, raising his own.

“I’m leaving soon, so I wanted to check in with you.”

“Wait. Leaving? Like leaving leaving, or like Bull and Sam leaving?”

“You’re not rid of me yet. I need to get back out to Medina Station,” Fred said. He poured himself a little more bourbon, frowning down at the glass like it was a delicate operation. “That’s where all the action is.”

“Really? I thought I heard something about the UN secretary-general and the Martian prime minister having a sit-down. I thought you’d be heading to that.”

“They can talk all they want. The real power’s in the geography. Medina’s in the hub where all the rings connect. That’s where the power is going to be for a good long time.”

“How long do you think the UN and Mars keep letting you run that show? You have a head start, but they have a bunch of really dangerous ships to throw at you if they decide they want your stuff.”

“Avasarala and I are back channeling a lot of this. We’ll keep it from getting out of hand.” Fred paused to take a long drink. “But we have two big problems.”

Holden put down the glass. He was starting to get the sense that him asking for – and getting – the discount on repairs might not actually have been the end of the negotiation after all.

“Mars,” Holden said.

“Yes, Mars is dying,” Fred agreed with a nod. “No stopping that. But we also have a bunch of OPA extremists making noise. The Callisto attack last year was their work. The water riot on Pallas Station. And there have been other things. Piracy’s up, and more of those ships have a split circle painted on them than I’d like.”

“I’d think any problems they had would be solved by everyone getting their own free planet.”

Fred took another pull of his drink before he answered. “Their position is that the Belter culture is one adapted to space. The prospect of new colonies with air and gravity reduces the economic base that Belters depend on. Forcing everyone to go down a gravity well is the moral equivalent of genocide.”

Holden blinked. “Free planets are genocide?”

“They argue that being adapted to low g isn’t a disability, it’s who they are. They don’t want to go live on a planet, so we’re killing them off.”

“Okay, I can see not wanting to spend six months pumped full of steroids and bone growth stimulators. But how are we killing them?”

“For one thing, not all of them can tolerate that. But that’s not really the point. It’s that this,” Fred said, waving at the space station around them, “is pretty much over once everyone has a planet. For generations, at the minimum. Maybe forever. No reason to dump resources into the outer planets or mining the Belt when we can find the same stuff down a well and get free air and water to boot.”

“So once they don’t have anything anyone wants, they’ll just starve to death out here?”

“That’s how they see it,” Fred said. He and Holden shared a quiet moment while they drank.

“Yeah,” Holden finally said. “Well, they’ve got a point. But I don’t know what they can do about it.”

“There are people trying to figure that out. But it’s ramping up.”

“Callisto and Pallas.”

“And more recently they ran an attack on Earth with an old mothballed heavy freighter.”

Holden laughed. “I haven’t read that Earth got bombed, so that must not have worked.”

“Well, it was a suicide attack, and the suicide half worked. The UN fleet in high orbit patrol reduced the freighter to gas a tenth of an AU from the planet. No damage, not much press. But it’s possible those were all preliminary. That they’re planning some big showy statement about how the Belt can’t be ignored. The thing that scares the shit out of me is that no one can figure out what it will be.”

The gently sloping main corridor of the Tycho Station habitation ring was filled with workers. Holden didn’t pay much attention to the station schedules, but he assumed the crowds passing him meant it was shift change. Either that, or an orderly evacuation with no alarms sounding.

“Yo! Holden,” someone said as they passed.

“Hey,” Holden said, not sure who he was saying it to.

Celebrity was not something he’d figured out how to handle, yet. People would point, stare, whisper to each other when he walked by. He knew it generally wasn’t intended as insult. Just the surprise people felt when someone they’d only seen on video screens before suddenly appeared in the real world. Most of the murmured conversations, when he could overhear them, consisted of Is that James Holden? I think that’s James Holden .

“Holden,” a woman walking toward him down the corridor said, “what’s up?”

There were fifteen thousand people on Tycho, working in three different shifts. It was like a small city in space. He couldn’t remember if the woman speaking to him was someone he should know or not, so he just smiled and said, “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Same same,” she said as they passed.

When he reached the door to his apartment it was a relief that the only person inside was Naomi. She sat at the dining table, a steaming mug of tea in front of her, a distant look in her eyes. Holden couldn’t tell if she was melancholy or solving a complex engineering problem in her head. Those looks were confusingly similar.

He pulled himself a cup of water out of the kitchen tap, then sat across from her waiting for her to speak first. She looked up through her hair at him and gave him a sad smile. Melancholy, then, not engineering.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

“So I have a thing.”

“Is it a thing I can fix?” Holden asked. “Point me at the thing.”

Naomi sipped at her tea, buying time. Not a good sign, because it meant this was something she wasn’t sure how to talk about. Holden felt his stomach muscles tightening.

“That’s kind of the problem, actually,” she said. “I need to go do something, and I can’t have you involved in it. At all. Because if you are, you’ll try to fix it and you can’t do that.”

“I don’t understand,” Holden said.

“When I come back, I promise full and complete disclosure.”

“Wait. Come back? Where are you going?”

“Ceres, to start,” Naomi said. “But it may be more than that. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

“Naomi,” Holden said, reaching across the table to take her hand. “You’re scaring the shit out of me right now. There’s no way you can jet off to Ceres without me. Especially if it’s something bad, and I’m getting the feeling it’s something really bad.”

Naomi put down her tea, and gripped his hand in both of hers. The fingers that had been holding the mug were warm, the others cool. “Except that is what’s happening. There’s no negotiation on this. So, either I go because you understand and will give me the space to handle this on my own, or I go because we’ve broken up and you no longer get any vote in what I do.”

“Wait, what?”

“Have we broken up?” Naomi asked. She squeezed his hand.

“No, of course not.”

“Then thank you for trusting me enough to let me handle this on my own.”

“Is that what I just said?” Holden asked.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Naomi stood up. She had a packed duffel on the floor next to her chair that Holden hadn’t seen. “I’ll be in touch when I can, but if I can’t, don’t read anything into it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Holden replied. The whole scene had taken on a vaguely dreamlike feel. Naomi, standing at the end of the table holding her olive-green duffel bag, seemed very far away. The room felt bigger than it was, or else Holden had shrunk. He stood up too, and vertigo made him dizzy.