“You did, anyway,” Erich said. “So how did you meet her?”
“We got in over our heads on some shit, 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 hell, 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 fucking 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 fucking 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?”
“You know. You’ve been out here. This? All this? It’s your neighborhood. You know people. You know how things work. You know how to keep people alive.”
“You may be overestimating the amount of time I’ve put into analyzing stuff,” Amos said. “I got one ship and three people. That’s been kind of a handful. All the rest of this just happened along the way.”
“But it got us here.” Erich shifted his gaze. His eyes were hard. “I’ve got enough cash squirreled away that if I get access to it, I might be able to buy a small ship. Not a good one, but something. Or relocate the team somewhere. One of the Lagrange stations or Pallas or… wherever. Star
t over. Make a new niche. If you want to take the lead, I’ll give it up.”
“Oh,” Amos said. “Yeah, no.”
“They’d be better off with you leading than with me.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know them enough to give a shit. I’ve got my own thing going. I’m sticking with it.”
He couldn’t tell if the release in Erich’s eyes was relief or disappointment. Maybe both. Lydia would have known. Or Naomi. Or Holden. Alex, probably. For him, it was just a little change in muscle tension. Could have meant anything.
“I’ll find my own way then,” Erich said. “We’ll be out of here in a couple days, if I can manage it.”
“Okay, then,” Amos said. It felt like there should be something more. He’d known Erich as long as he’d known anyone alive. Even if they saw each other again a time or two, the conversation they’d just had was the mark of the end. Both of their lives could have looked a lot different if Amos had said a few different words. It seemed like there should have been something to say about that. But since he couldn’t come up with anything, he went back to the lift and headed down for the machine shop.
Going to the technical end of the Zhang Guo – the places where the owners and their guests wouldn’t spend their time – was like stepping into a different ship. All the glitter and beauty gave way to a clean utilitarian design that wasn’t as good as the Roci, but better than any other ship Amos had worked. All the corners were curved and softened in expectation of impacts. All the handholds were double-bolted. The drawers and cabinets in the machine shop were latched in two planes. The air smelled like fresh filters and lubricant. Someone had kept the place clean and in better order than a glorified orbital shuttle really deserved. Amos wondered if whoever that had been was still alive. It wasn’t a question he could answer, though, so he didn’t spend a lot of energy on it.
Peaches was sitting at a workbench. The outfit they’d gotten during their bike trip to Baltimore looked pretty sketchy in the clean and tidy surroundings. Torn at the shoulder and still too big for her. She looked like she was swimming in it. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a zip tie and her hands were moving quickly and carefully over an open case of modular electronics. Her movements were as precise and flowing as an old recording of a piano player at the keys. She didn’t look up as he came in, but she smiled.
“Got something for you. Salvaged a hand terminal. Nice one. Even got it talking to the local network. Finish the configuration, and you’re good to go.”
Amos pulled the seat next to her out from the body of the ship. She handed him the terminal, but still didn’t meet his eyes.