She’s seizing.
Pull her out.
And the blue one puts a gentle hand on her head and holds her lovingly underwater. A system goes dark, a few voices out of quadrillions go silent. A hundred systems. They go to war, and the war fails, but show me where you buried the guns. And the grandmothers gigglingly do.
Yes, the blue one says. Yes. That’s what I needed.
Thank you.
Chapter Twenty-One: Tanaka
The girl on the screen wore something that was supposed to look like a uniform, held herself in a way that was supposed to look like military crispness, and spoke with a formality that was supposed to sound like authority.
“In accepting Admiral Trejo’s offer, I am willing to permit one envoy from your ship to enter Draper Station to take custody of Teresa Duarte,” Jillian Houston said. “Once this transfer is complete, both the Sparrowhawk and the Derecho are invited to retire from Freehold system until such time as the details of our new situation can be finalized.”
“Oh, goody,” Tanaka said. “We’ll be invited to retire.”
“Yes, sir,” Mugabo said. Then, a moment later, “She does seem a bit green.”
“She’s still licking off the caul. I can’t believe we’ve had this much trouble tracking down someone who’s still sleeping with her teddy bear.”
“I believe a Martian was in command of the Storm until shortly before the attack on the homeworld.”
“And Nagata was in charge during that,” Tanaka said, then tilted her head. “So why isn’t she the one answering now?”
“I don’t have a theory to venture,” Mugabo said, but she hadn’t really been talking to him anyway.
Trejo’s plan was bold, she’d give him that. And, like all the best plans, it was limber. If Nagata accepted the terms, then he’d let her playact at being in charge until he could rebuild the strength they’d lost. And if Duarte proved to be unmanageable, maybe even keep her on as figurehead in perpetuity. It was an elegant way to put an end to the fighting: Give the enemy the raiment of power while keeping the actual power for yourself and then seeing if she ever noticed.
If she didn’t agree, but did reach out to announce her rejection, the door was open for diplomacy. Diplomacy always provided the chance to glean more information from the enemy. Or for them to glean it from you. It wasn’t a form of conflict Tanaka found comfortable, but she understood it.
This situation, though, fell somewhere between the two. It was an acceptance, and allegedly by the underground, but not by Nagata. It was a negotiation of terms, but not about the larger issues. Tanaka had already learned more than a little critical information: the exact location of the underground’s secret base and confirmation that the Gathering Storm—or at least its commander—was there. Teresa Duarte was probably there. The little rebel captain was certainly acting like she was. And it was probably true. The ship that had come through the gate was a good match for the Rocinante when it left New Egypt. It had gone to the moon that had the enemy base. And if the Rocinante was there, James Holden and Naomi Nagata were almost certainly there too.
If Nagata had been the one responding, it wouldn’t have smelled wrong at all.
It smelled wrong.
“I’m taking it,” she said. “I’ll go get the girl.”
If she’d expected Mugabo to object or push back against her taking the personal risk—The last time you had a Marine fire team with you, and you still came within centimeters of death, sir—he disappointed her. She didn’t feel disappointed, though. More amused.
“Tell Botton to start the Derecho toward us,” she said. “If we’re leaving after this, it looks like good faith. If we’re fighting, I want him close.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Mugabo said. “Not to change the subject, but you saw the briefing about San Esteban?”
“What about it?”
Mugabo’s little smile was melancholy. He would have made a good waiter. He had the vaguely embarrassed expression crafted for telling people the special was already sold out. She met his eyes.
“There are other people on that mission. We’re on mine. If the Messiah comes, He can find us at work. Understood?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
“If you need me, I’ll be in the armory.”
She hadn’t packed her fast scout suit, much to her regret. The Sparrowhawk did have a latest-generation assault suit, and lying on the deck awaiting her finishing touches, it looked nothing like the elegant and greyhound-lean Stalker. The assault armor had the simple, brutally efficient design of a wearable murder-robot. Under-slung on both arms were Gatling guns, designed to fire a high-speed stream of small-caliber explosive rounds. On the left shoulder was an integrated rocket-propelled grenade launcher, for when a pair of machine guns just won’t get the job done. And the suit itself was a weapon. Wearing one, Tanaka could bench-press a ground vehicle. Ripping a human limb from limb while wearing a Laconian assault suit was trivial. It was made for door-to-door, corridor-by-corridor assault. It was the pinnacle of Laconian design engineering, and in her hands it could clear a base like Draper Station without assistance. As long as she didn’t step in front of any PDCs.