Cibola Burn

“It’s an eighteen-month trip to send new troops to the front,” Cate answered. “That’s a long-flight freighter tied up for over three years. That’s expensive. And for the year and a half they’re flying out here, we’re fortifying our position. Making camps in the hills. Branching out. In order to win, they’ll need to do a full military program. Medina Station won’t support that, even if they get pissed at us for pushing the issue.”

“Coercive alliance,” Ibrahim added, nodding.

“By the book,” Cate said.

The room was quiet for a moment as everyone there mulled over her words. The metal roof rattled and scraped as the wind outside blew sand across it. The windows creaked, cooling with the night. A dozen people breathed the alien air.

“They’re here already,” Basia said, clearing his throat to break the silence. “Isn’t that exactly what they’ll do?”

“What who will do?” Scotty asked.

“The Rocinante,” Basia replied. “They’re in orbit right now. A warship, with guns and missiles and who knows what else. If we kill Holden, can’t they just bomb us?”

“Let’s hope they do!” Cate thundered at him. “By God let’s hope so. A few videos of dead colonists, murdered by UN ships in orbit, and the public opinion war is over.”

Basia nodded as though he were agreeing, while what he was really thinking was, I’m on the wrong team.

“So, we move on both groups at once,” Cate said. Her voice had taken on the same cadences Coop used to have. It was as if the man were still in the room, haunting the place. “They keep two people on roving patrol at all times, so we’ll need a team shadowing them until the signal goes out. We’ll put a second team on the security building where Murtry and the rest of his people will be. The third team will go to the commissary where Holden and his crewman are holed up at night. I’m thinking Scotty and Ibrahim for team one. I’ll lead…”

Cate rattled on, laying out the insanity of multiple murder like a puzzle to be solved or a game to be won. Coordinating the attacks so all three happened at once, so no one could raise the alarm. Using phrases like fields of fire and maximum aggression as if they meant anything other than gunning down a dozen women and men while most of them slept. The little group nodded and followed along. Basia was astonished by how easily the unthinkable became the routine.

“My children live here,” Basia said, interrupting.

“What?” Cate said, looking genuinely puzzled. She’d been mid-sentence when he spoke up. “I don’t —”

“The bodies that we take pictures of to send to the newscasts,” Basia continued. “Those are our children. My children.”

Cate blinked at him, too puzzled to be angry yet.

“Como?”

“I wanted to come here and maybe talk you out of doing something stupid,” Basia said, standing up and addressing the room. “I thought maybe with Coop gone, we could put an end to this. But this isn’t just stupid anymore. Not when you can talk about dead friends and family as media tools. That’s evil. And I can’t be part of it.”

The room was silent again, except for the sand and the cooling windows and the breathing.

“If you try to get in our way —” Ibrahim started, but Basia wheeled to face the man.

“What?” he said, getting close enough that his breath stirred the whiskers in Ibrahim’s thin beard. “If I get in your way what? Don’t make half a threat, macho.”

Ibrahim was smaller than him. He lowered his eyes and said nothing. Basia felt a brief moment of shameful relief that it was Ibrahim who had chosen to press the issue, not Cate. Basia was afraid of Cate. He’d never have been able to stand up to her.

“Dui,” he said, backing away and nodding to them all. “Gone now.”

They began talking in hushed tones after the door closed behind him, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. It made the back of his neck itch. He wondered if he’d gone too far, and if they’d be content with just killing him and not Lucia too.

Halfway home he ran into two of the RCE security people walking patrol. Two women in heavy body armor that made them look bulky and dangerous. One of them, a fair-skinned woman with raven-black hair, nodded at him as he walked past. Everything about her was a threat: the armor, the large assault rifle she cradled in her arms, the stun grenades and wrist restraints hanging on her belt. Her friendly smile looked wildly out of place. Basia couldn’t stop himself from picturing her bleeding out in the street, shot in the back by one of his friends.

Lucia was waiting on their porch, sitting cross-legged on a large pillow and drinking something that steamed in the night air. Not tea. They had almost none of it left. Probably just hot water with a bit of lemon flavoring. But even the artificial flavorings would soon be gone unless they were given permission to begin trading their ore.

Basia sat down on the hard carbon fiber floor next to her with a thump.

“So?” Lucia asked.