Part 46 (2/2)

”You got it, Chrissie.”

”Don't f.u.c.king call me that. I'm the acting secretary-general of the United Nations, not your favorite stripper.”

Amos spread his hands. ”Could be room for both.”

Avasarala's laughter rang out through the dock. The security force broke up, moved on. The loading mechs repositioned. The carts continued on their various paths, busy as a kicked anthill. ”I'm glad you made it,” she said when she regained herself. ”The universe would be less interesting without you.”

”Likewise. How's the recovery going?”

”It sucks donkey b.a.l.l.s,” she said, shaking her head. ”We're still losing thousands of people every day. Maybe tens of thousands. The food's running out down there, and even if I had enough rice to feed them all, the infrastructure's so f.u.c.ked there's no good way to distribute it. Not to mention that there could still be more of those f.u.c.king rocks dropping anytime.”

”Your kid okay?”

”Ashanti and her family are fine. They're here on Luna already. Thank you for asking.”

”And your guy? Arjun?”

Avasarala smiled, and it didn't reach her eyes. ”I remain optimistic,” she said. ”The Rocinante is on its way. You'll have something to ride on that doesn't make your c.o.c.k look as small as that gaudy t.u.r.d.”

”That's good to hear. This boat's not my style anyway.”

Avasarala turned away, shuffling awkwardly into the crowd. The low gravity didn't seem natural to her. He figured she probably hadn't spent all that much of her life up the well. s.p.a.ce was an acquired skill. Amos stretched, rolled on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, and waited until the last of the security force was out of sight. Chances were pretty slim they were going to press the issue once they'd been slapped down, but he still felt better watching them get gone.

While he was waiting, two Belters in Aldrin dockworker uniforms scurried by staying close together, their heads bowed. Luna was going to be a s.h.i.+tty, s.h.i.+tty place to be a Belter for a while, Amos thought. Still, it probably hadn't been that great before. He headed back to the Zhang Guo, and the entry lock opened as he got close to it, welcoming him back in.

The s.h.i.+p's interior was ugly as h.e.l.l. The anti-spalling in the corridors was deep red and fake-velvet fuzzy with gold fleur-de-lis scattered over them in a weird, non-repeating pattern. The hatchways were enameled in royal blue and gold. Oversized crash couches were all over the place in the corners of rooms, in niches in the hallways. The air recyclers added the stink of sandalwood incense without the smoke. All told, the s.h.i.+p was the embodiment of a stereotypical wh.o.r.ehouse done by a designer who'd never been to a real one. The security station was perfunctory, poorly designed, and barely stocked, but Erich's people were placed around it as well as they could manage. Even Butch, still in pressure bandages, had a rifle with fresh rounds trained down the hallway.

”Hey,” Amos said. ”We're cool. They're not coming in.”

The release of tension was like a soft breeze, if soft breezes came with the sounds of magazines getting pulled from a.s.sault rifles.

”Okay,” Erich said, lifting a pistol in his good hand. ”Tyce. Police up all the guns. Joe and Kin, put a watch on the lock. I don't want to be surprised if anyone shows up unexpected.”

”They won't,” Amos said. ”But hey, knock yourselves out.”

”You got a minute?” Erich said, handing the pistol to a thick-necked man who Amos figured was Tyce.

”Sure,” Amos said. They fell into step, ambling toward the lift.

”That was really the woman who's running Earth now?”

”Until she lets 'em have an election, I guess. I never really paid much attention to how that whole thing works.”

Erich made a soft, noncommittal grunt. His bad arm was curled up against his chest, the tiny fist tight. His good hand was stuffed deep in his pocket. Both made him look like something was eating him.

”And you... You know her. Like asking-favors know her.”

”Yup.”

At the lift, Erich punched for the ops deck. It wasn't where Amos meant to go, but it seemed like the conversation was leading toward something, so he went with it. The lift made a stuttering start, then rose gently past the high-ceilinged decks.

”I can't tell if this thing's a s.h.i.+p or a f.u.c.king throw pillow,” Amos said.

”Wouldn't know,” Erich said. ”It's the first one I've been in.”

”Seriously?”

”Never been out of atmosphere before. The low-gravity thing. That's weird.”

Amos bounced gently on his toes. It was only about a sixth of a g. He hadn't really thought about it much. ”You get used to it.”

”You did, anyway,” Erich said. ”So how did you meet her?”

”We got in over our heads on some s.h.i.+t, and some folks she was against were trying to kill us. She came in and tried to keep us alive.”

”So now you're friends.”

”Friendly acquaintances,” Amos said. ”I don't have all that many what you'd call friends.”

The lift stopped with a small lurch that it really shouldn't have had. The ops deck was all dark surfaces, the decking a deep chocolate brown, the walls an artificial wood grain, the consoles and couches lined in fake leather. Or h.e.l.l, maybe real leather. It wasn't like he knew the difference to look at. Erich lowered himself into one of the couches and ran his good hand over his scalp.

”You know,” he said. ”You couldn't have done this without us. Me and your prisoner friend. And now the head of the f.u.c.king government, which excuse me if that still breaks my head a little.”

”Well, I -”

”No, I know you would have done something. Just not this. You couldn't have done this exact thing. This plan? For it, you needed to have us. All of us. And the only thing we had in common was you.”

Amos sat across from him. Erich wouldn't meet his eyes straight on.

”Plan's kind of a strong word for it,” he said. ”I was just grabbing whatever I could.”

”Yeah, the thing is you had things to grab. I spent a lot of years in Baltimore. Know it like the back of my hand. Knew it. Now, I've got all my best people here and no f.u.c.king clue what here looks like, you know? Who controls the drugs around here? How do you fake an ID? I mean, I figure that underlying logic's the same anywhere, but...”

Erich stared at the wall like there was something to see there. Amos craned his neck to look, just to be sure.

”I don't know what we do from here. I don't know what I do from here. I've got people counting on me to get them through the queen of all churns, and I don't know where to take them or what we're gonna do.”

”Yeah, that sucks.”

”You do,” Erich said.

”I suck?”

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