Abaddon's Gate

All of the reasons they’d come out—Earth, Mars, the OPA; all of them—seemed almost impossibly distant. Worrying about the OPA’s place in the political calculus of the system was like trying to remember whether he’d paid back a guy who bought him a beer when he was twenty. After a certain point, the past becomes irrelevant. Nothing that happened outside the slow zone mattered. All that counted now was keeping things civilized until they found out if Holden’s mad plan was more than a pipe dream.

And in order to do that, he had to keep breathing.

“Might pull it off. Captain Pa’s got a plan she’s looking at might get us burning again. Maybe,” he said. “While we’re waiting, though, you think you could hook me up?”

She scowled, but she got an inhaler from the pack beside the bed and tossed it to him. His arms still worked. He shook the thing twice, then put the formed ceramics to his lips and breathed. The steroids smelled like the ocean, and they burned a little. He tried not to cough.

“That’s not going to fix anything,” she said. “All we’re doing is masking the symptoms.”

“It’s just got to get me through,” Bull said, trying out a smile. The truth was he felt like crap. He didn’t hurt, he just felt tired. And sick. And desperate.

With the inhaler stowed, he angled the walker back out toward the corridor. The medical bays were still full. The growing heat gave everything the sick, close feeling of a tropical summer. The smell of bodies and illness, blood and corruption and fake floral antiseptics made the rooms feel smaller than they were. Practice had made him more graceful with the mechanism. He used the two joysticks to shift out of the way of the nurses and therapists, making himself as unobtrusive as the rig allowed as he made his way back toward the security office.

His hand terminal chimed. He drove to a turn in the corridor, snugging himself into the corner to stay out of the way, then dropped the joysticks and took up the terminal. Corin requesting a connection. He thumbed to accept.

“Corin,” he said. “What you got?”

“Boss?” she said. The tension in her voice brought his head up a degree. “You running a drill?”

“What’s going on?”

“Jojo and Gutmansdottir just came by and said they were taking over the security office. When I told them they could have it when my shift was up, they drew down on me.”

Bull felt a black dread descending upon him. He gripped the terminal and kept his voice low.

“They what?”

He pulled up his security interface, but the red border refused him. He was locked out of the command systems. They’d been moving fast.

“Was hoping it was some kind of test. Way they were talking, I got the feeling they were looking to find you there. I’m heading over to Serge’s. He’s trying to figure out what the hell’s going on,” she said. “If it was the wrong call—”

“It wasn’t. You walked away, you did the right thing. Where were they supposed to be?”

“Sir?”

“They were on shift. Where were they supposed to be?”

For a moment, Corin’s wide face was a mask of confusion. He watched her understand, a calm and deadly focus coming into her eyes. She didn’t need to say it. Jojo and Gutmansdottir had been guarding the prisoners. Meaning Ashford.

Pa should have let him kill the bastard.

“Okay. Find Serge and anyone you trust. We’ve got to get this shit contained.”

“Bien.”

They’d be going for the armory. If they had security, the guns and gear were already theirs. Bull let a thin trickle of conversational obscenities fall from his lips while he tried to think. If he knew how many of his people had turned back to Ashford, he’d know what he had to work with.

“We can’t let him get to Monica and the broadcast center,” Bull said. “It gets out that we’ve got fighting in the drum, we’ll get a dozen half-assed rescue missions trying to get their people out.”

“You want us to concentrate there?” Corin asked.

“Don’t concentrate anywhere,” Bull said. “Not until we know what we’re looking at. Just get as many people and guns as you can and stay in touch.”

He had to get a plan. He had to have one now, only his brain wasn’t working the way it should. He was sick. Hell, he was dying. It seemed deeply unfair that he should have to improvise at the same time.

“Get to Serge,” he said. “We’ll worry about it from there. I’ve got some people I’ve got to talk to.”

“Bien, boss,” Corin repeated, and dropped the connection.

A nurse pushed a rolling table around the corner, and Bull had to put his terminal away in order to step out of the man’s path. He wished like hell he could walk and hold his terminal at the same damn time. He requested a priority connection to Pa. For a long moment, he was sure she wouldn’t pick up, that Ashford had gotten to her already. The screen flickered, and she was there. He couldn’t see what room she was in, but there were voices speaking in the background.

“Mister Baca,” Pa said.

“Ashford’s loose,” he said. “I don’t know how many people he’s got or what he’s doing, but a couple of my people just drew weapons and took over the security station.”

Pa blinked. To her credit, she didn’t show even a moment’s fear, only the mental shifting of gears.

“Thank you, Mister Baca,” Pa said. He could tell from the movement of her image on the screen that she was already walking away from wherever she’d been. Getting someplace unpredictable. That was what he needed to be doing too.

“I’ll try to get in touch when I have a better idea what I’m looking at,” he said.

“I appreciate that,” she said. “I have a few people nearby that I trust. I’m going there now.”

“I figure he’s going to try to take over the broadcast station.”

“Then we’ll try to reinforce them,” Pa said.

“Maybe it’s just a few ass**les,” Bull said. “Ashford may be trying to keep his head low too.”

“Or he may be getting ready to throw us both into a soil recycler,” Pa said. “Which way do you want to bet?”

Bull smiled. He almost meant it.

“Take care of yourself, Captain.”

“You too, Mister Baca.”

“And hey,” he said. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”