Tiamat's Wrath (Expanse 8)

The morning clouds had gone, but the landscape was still soaking from the rain. The water cycle was something that all the worlds in the empire shared. Any world with life had rainstorms and mud puddles. She walked down the colonnaded paths, tending away from the more inhabited parts of the State Building. She didn’t want to have any company but her dog and her self-pity.

She wondered what she could have done differently. If she’d told Muriel no, that she had to break things off with Connor. She could have done that. She still could, a little. If she went to Colonel Ilich and said she didn’t feel comfortable with Muriel anymore, she could have the girl kicked out of the peer interaction activities. Even request that Connor spend more time at the State Building if she wanted to, and it would just happen.

But everyone would know why she was doing it, and so she couldn’t. Instead, she walked across the gray-green of the back gardens, looked out at the low, green rise of the mountain beyond the State Building’s grounds, and wished she could leave or die or turn time backward.

Muskrat alerted, dark, floppy ears pointing forward with excitement. The dog barked once in what sounded like excitement and then bounded away faster than an animal on old worn-out hips should have been able to. Despite herself, Teresa laughed.

“Muskrat!” she shouted, but the dog was onto something and wouldn’t be turned away. The thick, wagging tail disappeared behind a hedge of lilacs imported from Earth, and Teresa trotted after.

She half expected to find Muskrat worrying a skitter or ash-cat or other local animal that had wandered onto the grounds. The dog did that sometimes, even though the local animals made her sick when she ate them. Teresa always worried that one of the larger native predators would sneak in someday. But when she made her way around the hedge, the only thing besides Muskrat was a human figure, sitting on the grass and looking out toward the horizon. Graying, close-cropped hair. Laconian uniform without an insignia of rank. An amiable, empty smile.

James Holden, and Muskrat sprawling on the grass beside him, wriggling to scratch her back. Teresa stopped short. Holden reached out idly and rubbed her dog’s belly. Muskrat hopped to her feet

and barked to Teresa. Come on! Almost against her will, Teresa found herself walking toward the most famous prisoner in the empire.

She didn’t like Holden. Didn’t trust him. But whenever they spoke, he was polite and unthreatening. Even a little amused by everything in a vague, philosophical kind of way that made it easy to be polite back.

“Hey,” he said, not looking up at her.

“Hello.”

“You know what’s weird?” he said. “The rain smells the same, but the wet ground doesn’t.”

Teresa didn’t say anything. Muskrat looked from the prisoner to her and back again, as if she expected something she was looking forward to. After a moment, Holden went on.

“I grew up on Earth. When I was your age—you’re fourteen, right? When I was your age, I was living on a ranch in Montana with eight parents and a lot of animals. Rain smelled like this. I think it’s the ozone. You know, from the electrical charges? But the ground after a storm had this deep smell. It was like… I don’t know. It smelled good. Here, it smells minty. It’s weird.”

“I’ve been around wet soil before,” she said, almost defensive. “That smell’s called petrichor. It’s actinomycete spores.”

“I didn’t know that,” Holden said. “It’s a good smell. I miss it.”

“That’s my dog.” The implied so get away from her was lost on him.

“Muskrat,” Holden said, and Muskrat thumped her tail, pleased to be included in the conversation. “That’s an interesting name. Did you pick it?”

“Yes,” Teresa said.

“Ever seen a real muskrat?”

“Of course not.”

“So why the name?” The way he asked seemed weirdly open. Almost innocent. Like she was the grown-up and he was the kid.

“There was a character named that in a picture book my father used to read to me.”

“And was the character a muskrat?”

“I guess so,” Teresa said.

“Well, there you have it,” Holden said. “Mystery solved. You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know. She’s not.”

Teresa shifted her weight. The ground under her was still soft from the rain, and he was right. It smelled like mint. A half dozen possible responses came to mind, from turning and walking away to telling him that she wasn’t scared of him and he was stupid to think she was. If she hadn’t already been feeling humiliated and angry, she probably would have laughed it off. But it turned out she was spoiling for a fight, and he’d handed her one. He was one of the few people it was perfectly safe to bite at.

“You’re a terrorist,” she said. “You killed people.”

An expression crossed his face almost too quickly to see, then he smiled again. “I guess I was. But I’m not anymore.”

“I don’t know why my father doesn’t keep you in prison,” she said.