Cibola Burn

“What about picking babysitters?” Fayez said. “A dozen people whose cases aren’t as advanced. Shoot them up. They can take care of the rest of us until there’s another drop. Captain?”

“What? Oh, sorry. I was… um. There’s a hole in the window. Plastic. I was just making sure there weren’t any death-slugs in here. And fixing it.”

“Captain,” Lucia said, her voice sharp and crisp. “You’re taking medications for a chronic and potentially terminal condition. We are discussing whether or not to use your medication to treat other patients and leave you without.”

“That’s fine.”

“Ethically, it’s actually a little problematic,” Lucia said. “If I’m going to do this, and I very much want to, I need to know that you understand —”

“I do, I do, I do,” he said. “I’ve sucked down enough radiation that I bloom tumors a lot. The thing that keeps it under control does that thing with the other thing. And then there are other people and I can take a nap.”

Elvi could hear Lucia’s smile when she spoke. “I’m not sure the human subjects board would call that sufficient, but broadly yes.”

“Of course you use it,” he said. “Use it, go ahead. We’ll get more if we can.”

“And if we can’t?”

“I might get a new tumor before we starve. I might not,” Holden said. “I’m okay with that.”

Lucia took back her hand, leaving Elvi’s feeling a little colder. “All right, then. We should start. Can you guide me please, Captain?”

“Yes,” Holden said. “Yes, I can. But we may need to get a cup of coffee. I’m feeling a little tired.”

“I can get you some stimulants if you’d like, but there’s no coffee.”

“Right,” Holden said. “No coffee. This is a terrible, terrible planet. Show me how to make everyone better.”

Chapter Forty-Two: Havelock

The armor in the brig was a simple, unpowered suit of Kevlar and ceramic. It was vacuum rated and had a fitting for a half-hour air bottle. Its intended uses included breaking up brawls among the crew and making short, tactical spacewalks. There were probably a dozen more like it up in the main security station. He hoped that the engineers didn’t think of them. When Havelock stepped into it, it pulled his pant legs up, bunching the cloth uncomfortably at the crotch. He put the shotgun strap over his shoulder and shifted, using both hands to pluck the pant back into place.

Laughter doesn’t help,” he said.

“Wasn’t laughing,” Naomi replied, then laughed.

He took a fistful of disposable handcuffs and two Tasers from the gun locker. One had a full charge, the other was at three-eighths. He made a mental note to check the batteries on all the weapons later, then remembered that there probably wasn’t going to be a later. Not for him, at least. He could leave a note for Wei or something. He thought about calling Marwick, warning him that things were getting complex. Relying on the man’s decency and instincts.

He didn’t do it.

Naomi, floating behind him, stretched out, her fingers and toes splayed in the open air. Her paper jumpsuit crinkled and popped with every motion. Havelock looked around his office one last time. It was strange, knowing he probably wouldn’t see it again. And if he did, it’d be from the inside of the cage.

If that happened, though, it would be because they’d found some way to keep from dropping into the atmosphere, burning in the high air. So the chances were low. He wasn’t going to worry about it.

“First mutiny?” Naomi said.

“Yeah. It’s not really something I do.”

“It gets easier,” she said, holding out her hand. He looked at it in confusion. “I can take one of those.”

“No,” he said, tuning the suit comm unit to the channel the training group used as a default. There was no chatter at all. That was odd. He cycled through the other frequencies.

“No?”

“Look, I’m getting you out of here. Doesn’t mean I’m comfortable handing you a weapon and turning my back.”

“You have interesting personal boundaries,” Naomi said.

“I may be working through some things right now.”

The first militiaman flew through the doorway too fast, pumped on adrenaline and unaccustomed to having a gun in his hand. The second came just behind him, feet first. Havelock felt his gut go tight. They both had pistols in their hands and armbands around their biceps. Naomi, behind him, took a breath.

“Gentlemen,” Havelock said with a nod. “How can I help you?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the first one demanded, trying to bring his gun to bear and steady himself against the wall at the same time.

“Moving the prisoner,” Havelock said, his voice pitched just between contempt and incredulity. “What else would I be doing?”

“Chief didn’t say anything about that,” the second one said.

“Chief Engineer Koenen isn’t head of security on this ship. I am. You guys are helping me. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, but keep in mind that this is what I do, all right? What the hell are you two doing here?”

They exchanged a glance. “Chief told us to come guard the prisoner.”

Naomi smiled and looked demure and non-threatening. She faked it pretty well.