“This message is for Naomi Nagata. My name is Anton Trejo. I think you know who I am and the situation we’re both in. It’s past time that you and I talk. I would like to propose an alliance.
“We have our differences, and I’m not here to underplay or deny that. We also have access to certain information that makes clear the vulnerabilities that we’re both trying to address in our ways. We share a problem, you and I. The ring space and the unknown entities within it pose an existential threat for humanity. We must control access to the rings to limit this danger. We also both know that when it comes to getting people to deny their own immediate needs in favor of a greater good, asking nicely almost never works.”
Trejo spread his hands in a gesture of powerlessness. What option do they give us? Jim’s hands ached, and he forced his fists to unclench.
“I have here a copy of a document you wrote. Protocols for the safer use of the gates. I also have my own traffic analysis data that tell how well this project is going for you. I’ve had my best people analyze it and I have to say, it’s a damned good piece of work. Solid. If it were put in place, it might go a long way toward managing the threat of these incidents. The only thing it’s missing is a method of enforcement. Out of a shared concern for humanity as a whole and in recognition of our common history and moral bonds, I would like to put my forces at your disposal. On behalf of Laconia and High Consul Duarte, I am offering the underground not just armistice, but collaboration.
“We have to end these petty squabbles and fights. I think you know that. And I am willing to do so. Furthermore, I will commit to stationing two Laconian destroyers inside the ring space, even with the risk that we both know that exposes them to, with the sole mission of enforcing your transit protocol. We will not take aggressive action. We will not limit or control trade. I will guarantee the safety of any ship making use of the gates, and grant blanket amnesty for the underground.
“And I will begin by reassigning the forces presently in Freehold to that mission,” Trejo said. “That’s my offer. A unified front against the real enemies of humanity. And all I’d ask from you, as a gesture of your trust and goodwill, is the return of your present passenger. You know as well as I do that she’s in no danger from us. We only want to bring her home. And with this rapprochement between us, there’s no reason for her to be living in exile.”
The message ended, and for a moment, Jim wasn’t there. The cabin in Draper Station, the cot, the soft gravity, all of it was still present, but it became less immediate, less real than the holding cell in the depths of Laconia’s State Building. The fear was real, but more than that was the twin sense of despair and responsibility. The conviction that everything depended on him, and that he was powerless. Like watching something precious and delicate falling, and knowing that he couldn’t get to it in time. Everything was going to break, and even though there was nothing he could do, the grief pressed on him like he was the only one carrying it.
He’d done so much, tried so hard, and accomplished so little. And now they were coming to ask their questions and drown his answers out with pain until he’d say anything. Or they wouldn’t ask anything, they’d just beat him until he understood that he was at their mercy, and they were merciless.
A small, still part of him that watched the rest of his mind noticed how odd it was. When he’d been a prisoner on Laconia, he’d been able to hold himself together. To rise to the occasion, plan, scheme, and even suffer with a resolve that he couldn’t find now. After he’d escaped, he’d felt euphoric. Calm and whole and returned to the life he’d given up hoping for.
But the honeymoon faded, and the version of him it left behind was scarred and broken. He didn’t feel weak. He felt annihilated.
Years were gone. Years of prison and torture, which had been bad, and of pretending to be an honored guest while the threat of death invisibly followed one step behind. The dancing bear years. They’d been the worst because they’d broken down his sense of himself. Of who he was. Of what was true. The Jim Holden who had tripped the alarms in Medina Station was gone. The Jim who’d schemed against Cortázar and for Elvi Okoye had been half a lie from the start. He was all that was left. The dregs of himself. The scrapings.
Jim. Jim, come back to me.
His awareness shifted. The little cabin came back into focus like someone was tuning a video screen. Naomi was there. He didn’t remember her coming in. She was holding his hand.