Nemesis Games

She closed her eyes. Everything hurt. Her skin hurt. Her eyes felt gritty and swollen. The joints in her hands and feet ached. Her knees hurt. Her fingertips felt raw and oversensitive. She had the kind of headache that expressed as a sense of profound fragility until she moved too fast, and then it throbbed. It was better now than it had been, though. And it would get better. Slowly, over the course of at least days and maybe weeks, she’d come back to herself. Or some version of herself. But even if some of the damage was permanent, she’d feel better than she did now. Not yet, but soon.

Alex, Amos, and Bobbie were gone. Out to get beer and food. Their food. Pizza or falafel or sashimi. Earth food. There wasn’t any good red kibble on Luna, or if there was, it wouldn’t be served at the kinds of places they’d go. Part of her wished she’d had the energy to go with them. Part of her wished Jim had decided to join them instead of her. Part of her was euphoric and on the edge of tears that she was here, that she’d escaped, that it was over. She felt like her soul was a handful of dice that were still rolling, and what came up would decide the shape that the rest of her life took.

“I mean… Clarissa Mao?” Jim said. “How does anyone think that’s a good idea?”

“Amos isn’t afraid of monsters,” she said. The words tasted bitter, but not completely so. Or no, not bitter. Complex, though.

“She is responsible for a lot of dead people,” Jim said. “She blew up the Seung Un. Took out a quarter of the crew. And that one body they found? The one she was carrying around in a toolbox? Do you remember that?”

“I do.”

“That guy was a friend of hers. She wasn’t just killing faceless enemies. She was right down, look-them-in-the-eyes killing people that she knew. That she liked. How do you go from that to ‘I know, let’s ship out with her’?”

She knew she should stop him. He wasn’t talking about her or the Augustín Gamarra or any of the other ships that had been sabotaged since using the code she wrote. He wasn’t talking about Cyn, or the way he’d tried to intervene in her half-staged suicide. If he had been, there would have been more. How could she abandon her son? How could she let Filip think that she’d killed herself? How could she have kept something that important hidden from the people she said she cared about? All the sins she carried that even Clarissa Mao didn’t.

She knew she should stop him, but she didn’t. His voice was like tearing back scabs. It hurt to hear, and it left her exposed and raw and painful to the touch, and the pain felt good. Worse, it felt right.

“I’m not saying she should be killed. That whole thing about how if she’s ever going back to prison, Amos is going to shoot her? I understand that he’s joking —”

“He’s not.”

“Okay, I’m pretending that he’s joking, but I’m not advocating killing her. I don’t want her to die. I don’t even want her locked up in inhumane, shitty prisons. But that’s not what we’re talking about. Shipping with someone means literally trusting them with your life all the time. And, okay, I was on the Canterbury, and we had some people there who were deeply, deeply sketchy. But even Byers only killed her husband. Clarissa Mao set out to destroy me in particular. Me. I just… I don’t… How does anyone think this is a good idea? Someone who does the things she did doesn’t just change.”

She took a deep breath, pulling air into her bruised lungs. They still gurgled a little, but she was on enough reflex inhibitors that she wasn’t coughing herself light-headed anymore. She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to talk. She opened her eyes, sat up, her back against the headboard, her arms wrapped around her knees. Holden went quiet, feeling the weight of what was about to come. Naomi plucked at her hair, pulling it over her eyes like a veil, then almost angrily, she smoothed it back so her eyes were clear.

“So,” she said. “We need to talk.”

“Captain to XO?” he asked, carefully.

She shook her head. “Naomi to Jim.”

The dread that bloomed in his eyes hurt to see, but she’d also been expecting it. She felt its echo in her own chest. It was strange that after all she’d done – all the demons she’d faced and escaped – this should still be so hard. Holden’s hand terminal chimed, and he didn’t even look at the screen. The lines around his mouth deepened the way they did when he’d tasted something he didn’t like. His hands folded together, strong, controlled, calm. She remembered the first time they’d met, lifetimes ago back on the Canterbury. How he’d radiated charm and certainty and how much she’d hated it at first. How much she’d hated him for being too much like Marco. And then how much she’d come to love him for not being like him at all.