Jim muted his mic. “Not yet.”
“What alternative do you suggest?” Captain Mugabo asked. “I am open to discussing this.”
“I propose you land so we know you’re not a threat. Then we leave. With the girl.”
“May I have a moment to consult with my superior?”
Jim nodded, and Mugabo’s eyes shifted down as if he were sending a text-only message. Jim pulled up a tactical window. The two ships whipping around the planet in a low orbit, pointed dead-on at each other like gunmen in a cheap entertainment feed. He didn’t know what sorts of weapons the Sparrowhawk carried, but he knew for a fact they were all pointed at him right now.
Another window appeared. Fire control, with the rail gun charged and ready, the Laconian ship locked in with passive targeting so that it wouldn’t seem like an escalation. He glanced over to Naomi. She mouthed the words If you need it. He nodded.
“All right,” Mugabo said. “I accept your terms.”
“What?”
“We both value the life of the girl. If we have to continue this negotiation another time, so be it. You can go.”
Jim took two long breaths. “You’re not beginning a deorbit burn.”
“Did you expect me to?”
“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth,” Jim said. “I think if I fire the maneuvering thrusters, start to turn a little bit, you’ll send a round through my drive cone. I think the only reason you haven’t already done it is that you’d have to shoot through the whole ship to do it, and the risk to Teresa Duarte is too high.”
“I assure you that is not the case,” Mugabo said.
“Then you go first. If we’re free to leave, begin your descent. When I see you touch down, I’ll know you were telling the truth.”
“Yes,” Mugabo said. “Of course. I very much understand your position.”
“You’re playing for time.”
“I understand why you would feel that way, Captain Holden. Please believe me that we mean you and your crew no harm, and that my offer is sincere.”
The tactical screen bloomed at the same moment that Naomi’s calm voice reached him. “Fast movers. They’ve launched torpedoes.”
Radar tracked the pair of torpedoes as they arced out away from the Sparrowhawk. Mugabo had been buying time while his people locked in a firing solution that sent the torpedoes out and around the Roci to arc back in and hit her from behind. Take out the drive and leave the rest of the ship intact.
Jim tapped the fire control, and the Rocinante dropped away beneath him for a fraction of a second as a two-kilo tungsten slug spat out toward the enemy without the main drive on to compensate for the kick. Mugabo vanished, the tightbeam connection lost. The rolling, deep chatter of the PDCs vibrated through the ship. One of the torpedoes blinked off his board.
“I’m lining up another shot,” Alex said. The rail gun showed ready. The other missile blinked off the board. The Roci squealed a warning at them as two more torpedoes locked on.
“They’re getting ready to launch again,” Jim said.
“I’ve got the reactor set to dump core if the Roci thinks we’re out of luck,” Naomi said.
“Alex?”
The rail gun locked onto the Sparrowhawk a second time and fired without Jim’s having to clear it. “I think you got ’em,” Alex said.
Jim switched to the external telescopes. The Sparrowhawk was where it had been, curving around the planet toward them, its orbit unchanged. But now a cloud of gas and water vapor sprayed out of the ship along one side. The lock-on tone died as the Sparrowhawk’s torpedoes failed to fire.
“They may be playing dead,” Naomi said.
“Alex, keep the rail gun trained on them.”
“Copy that.”
A tiny suggestion of up and down came, shifting the couches on their gimbals as Alex adjusted the ship’s orbit to keep the Sparrowhawk lined up in their sights. No new lock-on warnings sounded. No active radar bounced off their hull. Jim pulled up the comms again, tried the tightbeam connection without knowing exactly what he’d say if Mugabo answered. He didn’t. The Laconian ship drifted on in its low, fast orbit. Either the Laconian ship would repair itself, or in another few weeks it would fall back down into the planet’s gravity well and burn up like a meteor. Or it was only playing dead, waiting for Jim to declare victory, turn the ship, and catch a rail-gun round through its drive.
“Alex,” he said. “Pull us back on maneuvering thrusters. If they don’t turn to match . . . Turn us, and let’s break orbit. Get out of here.”