“Holy shit, did they shoot
Lopez shook himself, like a man waking up from a daydream. He got up and hit the comm button by the door. A marine came through seconds later.
“Take Mr. Holden back to his quarters,” Lopez said, then left the room at a run.
The marine gestured at the corridor with the barrel of his rifle. His expression was hard.
Naomi patted the empty couch next to her and smiled.
“Did they put slivers under your fingernails?” she asked.
“No, actually, he was surprisingly human for a naval intelligence wonk,” Holden replied. “Of course, he was just getting warmed up. Have you guys heard anything about the other ships?”
Alex said, “Nope. But that alarm means they’re takin’ them seriously all of a sudden.”
“It’s insane,” Shed said quietly. “Flying around in these metal bubbles, and then trying to poke holes in each other. You ever seen what long-term decompression and cold exposure does? Breaks all the capillaries in your eyes and skin. Tissue damage to the lungs can cause massive pneumonia followed by emphysema-like scarring. I mean, if you don’t just die.”
“Well, that’s awful fucking cheerful, Doc. Thanks for that,” Amos said.
The ship suddenly vibrated in a syncopated but ultra-high-speed rhythm. Alex looked at Holden, his eyes wide.
“That’s the point defense network openin’ up. That means incoming torpedoes,” he said. “Better strap in tight, kids. The ship might start doin’ some violent maneuvering.”
Everyone but Holden was already belted into the couches. He fastened his restraints too.
“This sucks. All the real action is happenin’ thousands of klicks from here, and we got no instruments to look at,” Alex said. “We won’t know if somethin’ slipped through the flack screen till it rips the hull open.”
“Boy, everybody is just a fucking pile of fun right now,” Amos said loudly.
Shed’s eyes were wide, his face too pale. Holden shook his head.
“Not going to happen,” he said. “This thing is unkillable. Whoever those ships are, they can put on a good show, but that’s it.”
“All respect, Captain,” Naomi said. “But whoever those ships are, they should be dead already, and they aren’t.”
The distant noises of faraway combat kept up. The occasional rumble of a torpedo firing. The near-constant vibration of the high-speed point defense guns. Holden didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he was jerked awake by an earsplitting roar. Amos and Alex were yelling. Shed was screaming.
“What happened?” Holden yelled over the noise.
“We’re hit, Cap!” Alex said. “That was a torpedo hit!”
The gravity suddenly dropped away. The
Amos was still yelling, “Shit shit shit,” over everything. But at least Shed had stopped screaming. He was staring wide eyed out of his couch, his face white. Holden unbuckled his straps and pushed off toward the comm panel.
“Jim!” Naomi called out. “What are you doing?”
“We need to find out what’s going on,” Holden said over his shoulder.
When he reached the bulkhead by the hatch, he punched the comm panel call button. There was no reply. He hit it again, then started pounding on the hatch. No one came.
“Where are our damn marines?” he said.
The lights dimmed, came back up. Then again, and again, in a slow cadence.
“Gauss turrets firing. Shit. It’s CQB,” Alex said in awe.
In the history of the Coalition, no capital ship had ever gotten into a close-quarters battle. But here they were, firing the ship’s big cannons, which meant that the range was sufficiently short that a nonguided weapon was viable. Hundreds or even dozens of kilometers, not thousands. Somehow the Belt ships had survived
“Anyone else think this is desperate fucking queer?” Amos asked, a touch of panic in his voice.
The
The gauss round that killed Shed didn’t even make a noise. Like a magic trick, two perfectly round holes appeared on either side of the room in a line that intersected Shed’s couch. One moment, the medic was there; the next, his head was gone from the Adam’s apple up. Arterial blood pumped out in a red cloud, pulled into two thin lines, and whirled to the holes in the walls of the room as the air rushed out.
Chapter Twelve: Miller
For twelve years, Miller had worked security. Violence and death were familiar companions to him. Men, women. Animals. Kids. Once he’d held a woman’s hand while she bled to death. He’d killed two people, could still see them die if he closed his eyes and thought about it. If anyone had asked him, he’d have said there wasn’t much left that would shake him.
But he’d never watched a war start before.
The Distinguished Hyacinth Lounge was in the shift-change rush. Men and women in security uniforms-mostly from Star Helix, but a few smaller companies too-were either drinking their after-work liquor and winding down or making trips to the breakfast buffet for coffee, textured fungi in sugar sauce, sausage with meat maybe one part in a thousand. Miller chewed the sausage and watched the display monitor on the wall. A Star Helix external relations head looked sincerely out, his demeanor radiating calm and certainty as he explained how everything was going to hell.
“Preliminary scans suggest that the explosion was the result of a failed attempt to connect a nuclear device to the docking station. Officials from the Martian government have referred to the incident only as an ‘alleged terrorist action’ and refused comment pending further investigation.”
“Another one,” Havelock said from behind him. “You know, eventually, one of those assholes is going to get it right.”
Miller turned in his seat, then nodded to the chair beside him. Havelock sat.
“That’ll be an interesting day,” Miller said. “I was about to call you.”
“Yeah, sorry,” his partner said. “I was up kind of late.”
“Any word on the transfer?”
“No,” Havelock said. “Figure my paperwork’s hung on a desk someplace in Olympus. What about you? Any word on your special-project girl?”
“Not yet,” Miller said. “Look, the reason I wanted to meet up before we went in… I need to take a couple days, try to run down some leads on Julie. With all this other shit going on, Shaddid doesn’t want me doing much more than phoning this one in.”
“But you’re ignoring that,” Havelock said. It wasn’t a question.
“I’ve got a feeling about this one.”
“So how can I help?”
“I need you to cover for me.”
“How am I going to do that?” Havelock asked. “It’s not like I can tell them you’re sick. They’ve got access to your medical records same as everyone else’s.”
“Tell ’em I’ve been getting drunk a lot,” Miller said. “That Candace came by. She’s my ex-wife.”
Havelock chewed his sausage, brow furrowed. The Earther shook his head slowly-not a refusal, but the prelude to a question. Miller waited.
