And still, there was nothing under any sun that would keep her from playing it.
The message began with the blue wing-shaped crest of the Laconian Empire, a test tone, and then there he was. Jim looking into the camera with a mild amusement that most people wouldn’t recognize as a variety of rage. He had on a collarless shirt, and his hair was combed enough to show where his hairline was starting to pull back a little. Anti-aging regimens had pushed human life from the three- to four-decade range of prehistory to four times that, but wear and tear still counted for something. Jim had suffered more than his fair share of punishing life experiences. And then the fake grin ended and he really smiled, and the decades fell away. Even before he spoke, she heard him. The mix of sorrow and amusement in his eyes, like a guest at a party that had gone so wrong that the travesty had lapped itself and become a little bit fun again.
She stopped the playback as he opened his lips and took the moment with him. Even just the picture of him. Then, steeling herself, she started the message.
“Hey there, Knuckles. Sorry it’s been so long this time, but things got a little busy over here. I’m guessing you heard about Avasarala? The funeral brought in a lot of other guests to the palace.”
Using the nickname Knuckles, which he never had when they were together, was the signal that he knew they were still hunting her. She also heard the ghost of sarcasm in the way he said guests, but the censors hadn’t. There were real challenges to controlling communication between two people who’d been intimate for as long as she and Jim had been. The private language between them couldn’t be perceived by bureaucrats, and what couldn’t be seen couldn’t be stopped. The story of her life, these days.
“There’s still not much I can say. You know how it is. Uh. I met the guys who actually review this before it goes out. So hey, Mark. Hey, Kahno. Hope you guys are having a good day too. But yeah, things are fine here. Some rain in the afternoon, and Laconia’s getting on toward what passes for midsummer. They’re letting me have a lot of access to the grounds and I’m catching up on my reading. Mark and Kahno say I can’t talk about what I’m reading in particular, but it’s nice to have access. I’m also watching the newsfeeds, and the things that Duarte… They want me to call him High Consul Duarte, but really it seems pretentious. Anyway, the work he’s doing about figuring out the gates and what happened to the protomolecule engineers is actually pretty impressive. We disagree on other things, but he’s on the job with that. Which, you know. Hopefully…
“But I hope you’re okay. Give the kids my fond regards, and I’ll send you another message as soon as Mark and Kahno have an open slot in their schedule. They’re good guys. You’d like them. I love you.”
The image cut to blue, and Naomi let out her breath. It always hurt to see him. And the kids meant Alex and Bobbie and Amos. He had no way to know Amos was lost to them, probably killed on the same planet where Jim was being held prisoner. Or that Bobbie and Alex were off leading the fight on the front lines as pirates and revolutionaries. But even with all of that, hearing him always made her feel a little better too. It was as near to proof of life as she’d get. He didn’t look sick. He didn’t sound like he was under duress—
The image changed again, and a new face appeared. A man with dark eyes, acne-scarred skin, and a calm in his expression that landed him directly in the uncanny valley. Naomi found herself pulling back from the screen even before she realized who she was looking at. High Consul Winston Duarte, emperor of thirteen hundred worlds, smiled as if he’d seen her reaction and sympathized with it.
“Naomi Nagata,” he said, and his voice was pleasant and reedy. “I know I don’t usually insert myself in these messages, and I hope you’ll forgive me this rudeness. I don’t mean to intrude, but I think we should talk, you and I. I want to extend an invitation to you. Contact any of my security people on any station or base or city, and I will have you brought safely here. I understand that you and your fellow partisans don’t see eye to eye with me about the shape that humanity should take moving forward. Come talk to me. Convince me. I’m not an unreasonable man, and I’m not a cruel one. The truth is, over the last few years Captain Holden and I’ve found we have much in common.”
Naomi chuckled despite herself. Sure you did.
“You’ve seen how Holden is treated. If you come as my guest, you’ll have all the same courtesies and comforts, and you’ll have access that will let you advocate for the changes you want without the violence and death. I know we haven’t met, but everything Holden has told me says you’re more than some old-fashioned anti-government extremist. He believes in you, and he has convinced me to believe in you too. Accept my offer, and you and Holden can be eating breakfast together before you know it. He’ll tell you himself I’m a decent host.”
He made a self-deprecating smile. Carrot done, Naomi thought. Now stick.
“If you choose not to, that is your right. But as an enemy of the state, the consequences will be less pleasant. It’s going to be better for you and for me and—excuse me if this sounds grandiose—for the whole of humanity if you come as a guest. Please at least consider the option. Thank you.”
The message ended. Naomi shook her head once, tightly, and held on to her anger like it was a vaccine against something worse. Whether Duarte said it or not, the offer included trading all she knew of Saba and the underground. In return, she would be waking up next to Jim, living in a prison a thousand times larger than the one she’d imposed on herself. That was all obvious. The poison was the rest of it—access, influence, the emperor’s ear. It was exactly the path she’d argued for. Working within the system to make a revolution without starvation and hatred and dead kids. He was offering it to her on a plate, and it was possible—just possible—that he was even sincere.
Everything Saba had learned through his sources said that Jim really was being treated well. A guest as much as a prisoner. That was the cheese in the mousetrap. It was cunning almost to the point of wisdom. If she believed in her heart that Duarte would break his word, it would have been a thousand times easier to reject him. But all the stories about the devil making a deal and then cheating missed the point. The real horror was that once the bargain was struck, the devil didn’t cheat. He gave you exactly and explicitly all that had been promised.
And the price was your soul.
The knock startled her. It was like something from a different world. A moment ago, she’d been on Laconia. Eden, complete with a snake. And now she was back in her box, floating a few centimeters above the gel of her couch, the straps drifting around her like seaweed wrapping the drowned. She shifted her monitor to show the exterior of the container, half-afraid to see the Bhikaji Cama’s security chief ready to take her in, half-hoping.
The woman outside gripped a handhold and looked straight into the hidden camera. A black zippered duffel floated beside her. She was heavyset, with gray-streaked hair pulled back into a harsh bun and dark skin that got darker around her eye sockets like she’d cried too long and it had stained her. Naomi recognized her as Saba’s agent on the ship, but didn’t know her name.
Naomi pushed off from the crash couch, drifting fast toward the far end. She landed feetfirst, absorbing her momentum with her knees, and tapped her security code into the mechanism. The mag bolts clacked. In the silence, they sounded like gunshots. Before Naomi could open the door, the other woman did. She slid through, pulling the black bag with her, then shut the door behind her and glanced around the container as if there might be something unexpected in it.
“What’s the matter?” Naomi asked.
“Captain got a call middle of last shift,” the woman said in a clipped accent that sounded Europan to Naomi. “Took me longer than it should have to get a copy. That’s on me.”
She shoved the bag at Naomi. Even without opening it, the shape of mag boots and the hiss of a flight suit were unmistakable. Naomi didn’t wait. She slid the zipper open and started pulling the uniform on over her own clothes while the woman talked.
“Laconian destroyer burning in for a rendezvous. Should be here in eighteen hours. Say they’re going to make a full inspection, so alles la—” She gestured at Naomi’s things. The home she’d made for herself. “Yeah, we’re going to have to get clever about making that match the manifest.”
“Inspection?”
“Full,” the woman said. “This is all supposed to be bacterial samples. They see this…”
If they saw the false container, they’d know how the underground was staying hidden. And that some fraction of the Transport Union was in on the scheme. It might not be the end of the shell game, but it would be a data point too clear for Laconia to overlook for long. And it would be the end for her.
“Is it only us?” Naomi asked.
“Does it need to be more? Us is our problem. Focus on—”
?