Nemesis Games (Expanse 5)

“Don’t fucking 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 balls,” 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 fucked there’s no good way to distribute it. Not to mention that there could still be more of those fucking 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 cock look as small as that gaudy turd.”

“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. Space was an acquired skill. Amos stretched, rolled on the balls 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 shitty, shitty 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 ship’s interior was ugly as hell. 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 ship was the embodiment of a stereotypical whorehouse 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 assault 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 ship or a fucking 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.”