Tiamat's Wrath (Expanse 8)

“You heard about Avasarala,” Alex said.

The relief came in a little rush followed by chagrin at feeling relief. It was only that Avasarala had died. “I did.”

Bobbie poured out shots for each of them, then raised one. “She was a hell of woman. We won’t see her like again.”

They touched glasses, and Naomi drank. Losing the old woman was hard—harder for Bobbie, probably, than any of the rest of them. But they weren’t mourning Amos yet. Or Jim.

“So,” Bobbie said, putting down her glass, “how’s life as the secret general of the resistance?”

“I prefer ‘secret diplomat,’” Naomi said. “And it’s underwhelming.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Alex said. “Can’t talk without food. It’s not family unless there’s a meal.”

The restaurant did a good Belt/Mars fusion menu. Something called white kibble that was related to the real thing, but with fresh vegetables and bean sprouts. Rounds of vat-grown beef-pork hybrid cooked in the shape of a Petri dish and touched with a sweet hot sauce. They leaned on the table here the way they had on the Rocinante in their previous incarnations.

Naomi hadn’t realized how much she missed Bobbie’s laugh or Alex’s way of sneaking another small helping onto her plate when she was almost finished eating. The little intimacies of living in close quarters with someone for decades. And then not living there anymore. It might have made her sad if it weren’t for the pleasure of being there in the moment with the two of them.

“The Storm’s crewed up pretty well,” Bobbie was saying. “I was worried for a while that it would be straight Belters. I mean, that’s where Saba’s bench is the deepest. Two Martian vets running a crew full of folks who still call us inners?”

“Could have been a problem,” Naomi agreed.

“Saba pulled a whole sheet of UNN and MCRN vets,” Alex said. “Young ones too. Weird being around people who were the age I was when I mustered out. They look like babies, you know? All fresh-faced and serious.”

Naomi laughed. “I know. Anyone under forty looks like a child to me now.”

“They’re good,” Bobbie said. “I’ve been running drills and simulations the whole time we’ve been parked.”

“There’ve been a couple fights,” Alex said.

“It’s just nerves,” Bobbie said. “When this mission’s done, that shit will evaporate.”

Naomi took another bite of white kibble so that she wouldn’t frown. It didn’t work, though. Alex cleared his throat and spoke in his changing-the-subject voice. “I’m guessing there’s still no word from the big guy?”

Two years before, Saba had found a chance to slip an operative onto Laconia itself with a pocket nuke and an encrypted recall-and-retrieve transmitter. A long-odds mission to get Jim back, or destroy Laconia’s rule by cutting off its head. Saba had asked Naomi who she would trust with something that important. That dangerous. When Amos heard about it, he’d packed his bags in the same hour. Since then, Laconia had built new defenses. The underground had lost most of its presence in Laconia system, and Amos had gone silent.

Naomi shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Yeah, well,” Alex said. “Soon, probably.”

“Probably,” Naomi agreed, the same way she did every time they had this conversation.

“You two want any coffee?” Alex asked. Bobbie shook her head at the same time Naomi said Not for me, and Alex popped up. “I’ll go settle up, then.”

When the door closed behind him, Naomi leaned forward. She wanted to leave the moment where it was—a reunion with family. A bright spot in the darkness. She wanted to, and she couldn’t.

“A mission with the Storm in Sol system is a hell of a risk,” she said.

“It stands a real chance of getting some attention,” Bobbie agreed, not making eye contact. Her tone was light, but there was a warning in it. “It’s not just me, you know.”

“Saba.”

“And others.”

“I keep thinking about Avasarala,” Naomi said. There was still some whiskey in the bottle, and she poured herself a finger. “She was a hell of a fighter. Never backed down from anything, even when she lost.”

“She was one of a kind,” Bobbie agreed.

“She was a fighter, but she wasn’t a warrior. She was always leading the struggle, but she did it by finding other ways to get the work done. Alliances, political pressure, trade, logistics. Her strategy was always that violence came last.”