“Don’t make a lick of sense to me, turnin’ that bug loose, even if you hated every single human on Eros personally. Who knows what that thing’ll do?”
Naomi walked to the galley sink and washed her hands, the running water drawing everyone’s attention.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” she said, then turned around, wiping her hands on a towel. “The point of it, I mean.”
Miller started to speak, but Holden hushed him with a quick gesture and waited for Naomi to continue.
“So,” she said. “I’ve been thinking of it as a computing problem. If the virus or nanomachine or protomolecule or whatever was designed, it has a purpose, right?”
“Definitely,” Holden said.
“And it seems like it’s trying to do something—something complex. It doesn’t make sense to go to all that trouble just to kill people. Those changes it makes look intentional, just… not complete, to me.”
“I can see that,” Holden said. Alex and Amos nodded along with him but stayed quiet.
“So maybe the issue is that the protomolecule isn’t smart enough yet. You can compress a lot of data down pretty small, but unless it’s a quantum computer, processing takes space. The easiest way to get that processing in tiny machines is through distribution. Maybe the protomolecule isn’t finishing its job because it just isn’t smart enough to. Yet.”
“Not enough of them,” Alex said.
“Right,” Naomi said, dropping the towel into a bin under the sink. “So you give them a lot of biomass to work with, and see what it is they are ultimately made to do.”
“According to that guy in the video, they were made to hijack life on Earth and wipe us out,” Miller said.
“And that,” Holden said, “is why Eros is perfect. Lots of biomass in a vacuum-sealed test tube. And if it gets out of hand, there’s already a war going on. A lot of ships and missiles can be used for nuking Eros into glass if the threat seems real. Nothing to make us forget our differences like a new player butting in.”
“Wow,” Amos said. “That is really, really fucked up.”
“Okay. But even though that’s probably what’s happened,” Holden said, “I still can’t believe that there are enough evil people all in one place to do it. This isn’t a one-man operation. This is the work of dozens, maybe hundreds, of very smart people. Does Protogen just go around recruiting every potential Stalin and Jack the Ripper it runs across?”
“I’ll make sure to ask Mr. Dresden,” Miller said, an unreadable expression on his face, “when we finally meet.”
Tycho’s habitat rings spun serenely around the bloated zero-g factory globe in the center. The massive construction waldoes that sprouted from the top were maneuvering an enormous piece of hull plating onto the side of the Nauvoo. Looking at the station on the ops screens while Alex finished up docking procedures, Holden felt something like relief. So far, Tycho was the one place no one had tried to shoot them, or blow them up, or vomit goo on them, and that practically made it home.
Holden looked at the research safe clamped securely to the deck and hoped that he hadn’t just killed everyone on the station by bringing it there.
As if on cue, Miller pulled himself through the deck hatch and drifted over to the safe. He gave Holden a meaningful look.
“Don’t say it. I’m already thinking it,” Holden said.
Miller shrugged and drifted over to the ops station.
“Big,” he said, nodding at the Nauvoo, on Holden’s screen.
“Generation ship,” Holden said. “Something like that will give us the stars.”
“Or a lonely death on a long trip to nowhere,” Miller replied.
“You know,” Holden said, “some species’ version of the great galactic adventure is shooting virus-filled bullets at their neighbors. I think ours is pretty damn noble in comparison.”
Miller seemed to consider that, nodded, and watched Tycho Station swell on the monitor as Alex brought them closer. The detective kept one hand on the console, making the micro adjustments necessary to remain still even as the pilot’s maneuvers threw unexpected bursts of gravity at them from every direction. Holden was strapped into his chair. Even concentrating, he couldn’t handle zero g and intermittent thrust half that well. His brain just couldn’t be trained out of the twenty-odd years he’d spent with gravity as a constant.
Naomi was right. It would be so easy to see Belters as alien. Hell, if you gave them time to develop some really efficient implantable oxygen storage and recycling and kept trimming the environment suits down to the minimum necessary for heat, you might wind up with Belters who spent more time outside their ships and stations than in.
Maybe that was why they were taxed to subsistence level. The bird was out of the cage, but you couldn’t let it stretch its wings too far or it might forget it belonged to you.
“You trust this Fred?” Miller asked.
“Sort of,” Holden said. “He treated us well last time, when everyone else wanted us dead or locked up.”
Miller grunted, as if that proved nothing.
“He’s OPA, right?”
“Yeah,” Holden said. “But I think maybe the real OPA. Not the cowboys who want to shoot it out with the inners. And not those nuts on the radio calling for war. Fred’s a politician.”
“What about the ones keeping Ceres in line?”
“I don’t know,” Holden said. “I don’t know about them. But Fred’s the best shot we have. Least wrong.”
“Fair enough,” Miller said. “We won’t find a political solution to Protogen, you know.”
“Yeah,” Holden said, then began unbuckling his harness as the Roci slid into its berth with a series of metallic bangs. “But Fred isn’t just a politician.”
Fred sat behind his large wooden desk, reading the notes Holden had written about Eros, the search for Julie, and the discovery of the stealth ship. Miller sat across from him, watching Fred like an entomologist might watch a new species of bug, guessing if it was likely to sting. Holden was a little farther away on Fred’s right, trying not to keep looking at the clock on his hand terminal. On the huge screen behind the desk, the Nauvoo drifted by like the metal bones of some dead and decaying leviathan. Holden could see the tiny spots of brilliant blue light where workers used welding torches on the hull and frame. To occupy himself, he started counting them.
He’d reached forty-three when a small shuttle appeared in his field of view, a load of steel beams clutched in a pair of heavy manipulator arms, and flew toward the half-built generation ship. The shuttle shrank to a point no larger than the tip of a pen before it stopped. The Nauvoo suddenly shifted in Holden’s mind from a large ship relatively nearby, to a gigantic ship farther away. It gave him a short rush of vertigo.
His hand terminal beeped at almost the same instant that Miller’s did. He didn’t even look at it; he just tapped the face to shut it up. He knew this routine by now. He pulled out a small bottle, took out two blue pills, and swallowed them dry. He could hear Miller pouring pills out of his bottle as well. The ship’s expert medical system dispensed them for him every week with a warning that failing to take them on schedule would lead to horrific death. He took them. He would for the rest of his life. Missing a few would just mean that wasn’t very long.
Fred finished reading and threw his hand terminal down on the desk, then rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands for several seconds. To Holden, he looked older than the last time they’d seen each other.
“I have to tell you, Jim, I have no idea what to make of this,” he finally said.
Miller looked at Holden and mouthed, Jim, at him with a question on his face. Holden ignored him.
“Did you read Naomi’s addition at the end?” Holden asked.
“The bit with the networked nanobugs for increased processing power?”
“Yeah, that bit,” Holden said. “It makes sense, Fred.”
Fred laughed without humor, then stabbed one finger at his terminal.
Miller cleared his throat.
“You have something to add, Mr. Muller?” Fred asked.
“Miller,” the detective replied. “Yes. First—and all respect here—don’t kid yourself. Genocide’s old-school. Second, the facts aren’t in question. Protogen infected Eros Station with a lethal alien disease, and they’re recording the results. Why doesn’t matter. We need to stop them.”
“And,” Holden said, “we think we can track down where their observation station is.”
Fred leaned back in his chair, the fake leather and metal frame creaking under his weight even in the one-third g.
“Stop them how?” he asked. Fred knew. He just wanted to hear them say it out loud. Miller played along.
“I’d say we fly to their station and shoot them.”
“Who is ‘we’?” Fred asked.
“There are a lot of OPA hotheads looking to shoot it out with Earth and Mars,” Holden said. “We give them some real bad guys to shoot at instead.”
Fred nodded in a way that didn’t mean he agreed to anything.
“And your sample? The captain’s safe?” Fred said.
“That’s mine,” Holden said. “No negotiation on that.”
Fred laughed again, though there was some humor in it this time. Miller blinked in surprise and then stifled a grin.
“Why would I agree to that?” Fred asked.
Holden lifted his chin and smiled.
“What if I told you that I’ve hidden the safe on a planetesimal booby-trapped with enough plutonium to break anyone who touches it into their component atoms even if they could find it?” he said.
Fred stared at him for a moment, then said, “But you didn’t.”
“Well, no,” Holden said. “But I could tell you I did.”
“You are too honest,” Fred said.
“And you can’t trust anyone with something this big. You already know what I’m going to do with it. That’s why, until we can agree on something better, you’re leaving it with me.”
Fred nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “I guess I am.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Miller
The observation deck looked out over the Nauvoo as the behemoth slowly came together. Miller sat on the edge of a soft couch, his fingers laced over his knee, his gaze on the immense vista of the construction. After his time on Holden’s ship and, before that, in Eros, with its old-style closed architecture, a view so wide seemed artificial. The deck itself was wider than the Rocinante and decorated with soft ferns and sculpted ivies. The air recyclers were eerily quiet, and even though the spin gravity was nearly the same as Ceres’, the Coriolis felt subtly wrong.
He’d lived in the Belt his whole life, and he’d never been anywhere that was designed so carefully for the tasteful display of wealth and power. It was pleasant as long as he didn’t think about it too much.
He wasn’t the only one drawn to the open spaces of Tycho. A few dozen station workers sat in groups or walked through together. An hour before, Amos and Alex had gone by, deep in their own conversation, so he wasn’t entirely surprised when, standing up and walking back toward the docks, he saw Naomi sitting by herself with a bowl of food cooling on a tray at her side. Her gaze was fixed on her hand terminal.
“Hey,” he said.
Naomi looked up, recognized him, and smiled distractedly.
“Hey,” she said.
Miller nodded toward the hand terminal and shrugged a question.
“Comm data from that ship,” she said. It was always that ship, Miller noticed. The same way people would call a particularly godawful crime scene that place. “It’s all tightbeam, so I thought it wouldn’t be so hard to triangulate. But…”
“Not so much?”
Naomi lifted her eyebrows and sighed.
“I’ve been plotting orbits,” she said. “But nothing’s fitting. There could be relay drones, though. Moving targets the ship system was calibrated for that would send the message on to the actual station. Or another drone, and then the station, or who knows?”
“Any data coming off Eros?”
“I assume so,” Naomi said, “but I don’t know that it would be any easier to make sense of than this.”
“Can’t your OPA friends do something?” Miller asked. “They’ve got more processing power than one of these handhelds. Probably have a better activity map of the Belt too.”
“Probably,” she said.
He couldn’t tell if she didn’t trust this Fred that Holden had given them over to, or just needed to feel like the investigation was still hers. He considered telling her to back off it for a while, to let the others carry it, but he didn’t see he had the moral authority to make that one stick.
“What?” Naomi said, an uncertain smile on her lips.
Miller blinked.
“You were laughing a little,” Naomi said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh before. I mean, not when something was funny.”
“I was just thinking about something a partner of mine told me about letting cases go when you got pulled from them.”
“What did he say?”
“That it’s like taking half a shit,” Miller said.
“Had a way with words, that one.”
“He was all right for an Earther,” Miller said, and something tickled at the back of his mind. Then, a moment later: “Ah, Jesus. I may have something.”
Havelock met him in an encrypted drop site that lived on a server cluster on Ganymede. The latency kept them from anything like real-time conversation. It was more like dropping notes, but it did the trick. The waiting made Miller anxious. He sat with his terminal set to refresh every three seconds.
“Would you like anything else?” the woman asked. “Another bourbon?”
“That’d be great,” Miller said, and checked to see if Havelock had replied yet. He hadn’t.
Like the observation deck, the bar looked out on the Nauvoo, though from a slightly different angle. The great ship looked foreshortened, and arcs of energy lit it where a layer of ceramic was annealing. A bunch of religious zealots were going to load themselves into that massive ship, that small self-sustaining world, and launch themselves into the darkness between the stars. Generations would live and die in it, and if they were mind-bendingly lucky enough to find a planet worth living on the end of the journey, the people who came out of it would never have known Earth or Mars or the Belt. They’d be aliens already. And if whatever had made the protomolecule was out there to greet them, then what?
Would they all die like Julie had?
There was life out there. They had proof of it now. And the proof came in the shape of a weapon, so what did that tell him? Except that maybe the Mormons deserved a little warning about what they were signing their great-grandkids up for.
He laughed to himself when he realized that was exactly what Holden would say.
The bourbon arrived at the same moment his hand terminal chimed. The video file had a layered encryption that took almost a minute to unpack. That alone was a good sign.
The file opened, and Havelock grinned out from the screen. He was in better shape than he’d been on Ceres, and it showed in the shape of his jaw. His skin was darker, but Miller didn’t know if it was purely cosmetic or if his old partner had been basking in false sunlight for the joy of it. It didn’t matter. It made the Earther look rich and fit.
“Hey, buddy,” Havelock said. “Good to hear from you. After what happened with Shaddid and the OPA, I was afraid we were going to be on different sides now. I’m glad you got out of there before the shit hit the fan.
“Yeah, I’m still with Protogen, and I’ve got to tell you, these guys are kind of scary. I mean, I’ve worked contract security before, and I’m pretty clear when someone’s hard-core. These guys aren’t cops. They’re troops. You know what I mean?
“Officially, I don’t know dick about a Belt station, but you know how it is. I’m from Earth. There are a lot of these guys who gave me shit about Ceres. Working with the vacuum-heads. That kind of thing. But the way things are here, it’s better to be on the good side of the bad guys. It’s just that kind of job.”
There was an apology in his expression. Miller understood. Working in some corporations was like going to prison. You adopted the views of the people around you. A Belter might get hired on, but he’d never belong. Like Ceres, just pointed the other way. If Havelock had made friends with a set of inner planet mercs who spent their off nights curb-stomping Belters outside bars, then he had.
But making friends didn’t mean he was one of them.
“So. Off the record, yeah, there’s a black ops station in the Belt. I hadn’t heard it called Thoth, but it could be. Some sort of very scary deep research and development lab. Heavy science crew, but not a huge place. I think discreet would be the word. Lots of automated defenses, but not a big ground crew.
“I don’t need to tell you that leaking the coordinates would get my ass killed out here. So wipe the file when you’re done, and let’s not talk again for a long, long time.”
The datafile was small. Three lines of plaintext orbital notation. Miller put it into his hand terminal and killed the file off the Ganymede server. The bourbon still sat beside his hand, and he drank it off neat. The warmth in his chest might have been the alcohol or it might have been victory.
He turned on the hand terminal’s camera.
“Thanks. I owe you one. Here’s part of the payment. What happened on Eros? Protogen was part of it, and it’s big. If you get the chance to drop your contract with them, do it. And if they try to rotate you out to that black ops station, don’t go.”
Miller frowned. The sad truth was that Havelock was probably the last real partner he’d had. The only one who’d looked on him as an equal. As the kind of detective Miller had imagined himself to be.
“Take care of yourself, partner,” he said, then ended the file, encrypted it, shipped it out. He had the bone-deep feeling he wasn’t ever going to talk to Havelock again.
Leviathan Wakes: Book One of The Expanse Page 36
