allway around Alex. He had gray hair in a military-style buzz cut and flat gray eyes of almost exactly the same color. Alex could see the heavy black pistol he held behind his thigh as he checked to see if the corridor was clear. His name was Takeshi Oba, and he was one of Bobbie’s killers.
“All clear,” Alex said with a smile, and Oba let him in with a grunt.
It was an empty room of about five by ten meters with the same plain ceramic walls as the corridor outside. Bobbie’s team was standing in loose ranks facing her as she addressed them. She gave Alex a tiny nod as he entered, but didn’t stop her speech.
“Make no mistake,” she was saying, “the Sol system is the most dangerous theater we’ve operated in. Its threat level is second only to Laconia for our style of covert op. Nearly every rock or chunk of ice bigger than a troop transport has a station, telescope, or radar emplacement on it. There are eyes everywhere.”
A mutter passed through the group, but Alex couldn’t tell if it was grumbling or agreement.
“And,” Bobbie continued, “the Earth-Mars Coalition fleet is entirely under Laconian control. Which means the Laconians’ relatively small number of ships—the one fact that has allowed us to operate up to this point—is not going to help us here. To make matters worse, the Laconians have left the dreadnought Heart of the Tempest in orbit around Earth. It’s there primarily as a threat to keep the inner planets in line, but if it detects us, we are in a world of hurt. The Storm cannot survive an engagement with a Magnetar-class battleship. End of story.”
“Any word yet on the target?” Jillian Houston asked. She was the daughter of Freehold’s governor, Payne Houston, and had been one of the first volunteers for Bobbie’s team. She was tall and rangy, with white-blond hair, the muscles and bone structure of a born Earther, and a perpetual scowl line between her eyes. She’d become Bobbie’s unofficial second in the time they’d worked together. Alex worried about that. Jillian was mean as a snake. When he’d told Bobbie that, she’d responded, I just make sure she never runs out of mice. He still didn’t know quite what that meant.
“No. The kids upstairs are playing this one close to the vest,” Bobbie said. “It’s starting to feel like we’ll know when we’re already doing it.”
“Outstanding,” Jillian said.
“The Storm is buttoned up, and we’ll be heading Solward on the Pendulum in thirty hours,” Bobbie said. “Enjoy your time on Paternity Row, but make sure you’re on the ship and squared away twenty-four hours from now or find my foot uncomfortably up your ass.”
That drew a good-natured chuckle from the crowd.
“Dismissed.”
A few chaotic moments later, Bobbie, Jillian, and Alex were the only three left in the room. Bobbie still wore the nondescript flight suit she’d had on when they met with Naomi, but Jillian wore the black jumpsuit adopted by Bobbie’s strike team as its unofficial uniform. She also had a large pistol in a holster. Alex had never seen her without it. For Freeholders, wearing a gun was like wearing pants.
“I don’t like Saba giving us the runaround on this,” Jillian said. “It feels like he’s fucking improvising.”
“There could be a lot of legitimate reasons why the mission details are still being formulated,” Bobbie replied. Her voice was gentle, but firm. I understand your concern, but do it anyway was implicit in it.
“It has to be Callisto,” Jillian continued as if she hadn’t heard the quiet warning in Bobbie’s tone. “Only thing worth a damn that’s far enough away from that battleship to be a realistic target.”
Bobbie took a half step toward her and straightened up, magnifying the size difference between the two women. Jillian stopped talking, but didn’t back down at all. Mean as a snake, and with giant brass balls, Alex thought.
“That sort of speculation is unproductive. And, frankly, dangerous,” Bobbie said. “Keep it to yourself. Go get a drink or five. Get in a bar fight if you have to. But get it out of your system and be back at the Storm tomorrow. We’ll know more then.
“Dismissed.”
Jillian finally seemed to get the message. She threw Bobbie a half-mocking salute and sauntered out of the room.
Alex opened his mouth, and Bobbie pointed her finger at him. “Don’t fucking say it.”
“Copy that,” he said instead. “A day on station with nothing to do. Wish Naomi was hangin’ around. Could’ve done more than eat shitty kibble with her.”
“She’s got her mission too,” Bobbie said. Her lips pressed thin and pale.
“So,” Alex said, “you gonna tell me what went on between you, or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?”
Caught off guard, Bobbie let out a bark of laughter just the way he’d hoped she would. It was like a Chihuahua threatening an office building, and Alex grinned to show he was in on the joke.
Bobbie sighed. “She still thinks we should negotiate our way out of this. We disagree on that point. Same shit, different year.”
“She’s lost a lot,” Alex said. “She’s afraid of losing it all.”
Bobbie grabbed Alex’s upper arm and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
“And that’s the point I keep trying to make with her, my friend. In a fight like this, unless you’re willing to lose everything to win, you lose it all by losing.”
Chapter Four: Teresa