Tiamat's Wrath (Expanse 8)

“It wouldn’t be if there was any way for them to actually mount a successful defense. They’ve survived as long as they have by running away. We could kill any of them whenever we chose to, but Trejo was waiting.”

“For what?”

“For this,” Ilich said. He did love the sound of his own voice. The calm, patient instructor unfolding for the clueless little girl how the universe really worked. It had seemed like kindness for so many years. Now it looked like condescension. “The three Martian battleships are the irreplaceable core of their makeshift fleet. And when you have something that important, it’s natural to try to protect it. But it’s an emotional response, not a tactical one. And that’s why they’re going to pay for it.”

He had said all the same things at breakfast—eggs, sweet rice with fish, seared spinach with almonds—and she let him repeat himself now. Nothing he said mattered to her anymore.

“The Whirlwind will go through them like they weren’t there. There’ll be some cleanup afterward. We won’t get all of them. But their major ships? They’re even putting the Storm in harm’s way for this. It’ll be a bloodbath. And I—”

His handheld chimed. Ilich scowled and accepted the connection. Teresa put down her spoon and took a sip of water. Trejo’s voice was clear, and it was tense.

“I’d like a word with you in the tactical office, Colonel.”

Ilich didn’t speak, only nodded, rose, and walked away. Teresa was forgotten behind him. Which suited her just fine. When he was around the corner, she got up and opened the door for Muskrat. Th

e dog trotted in, huffing under her breath. Teresa took out her handheld and opened the tactical reports.

There was a moment of sorrow. They came now and then. The memory of her father telling her that she could be the leader they needed her to be. That he wanted to train her with all the things he knew, just in case. She’d been a different girl then. He’d been a different man. She missed both of them. But the pain faded quickly, and she didn’t lose anything by letting it go. It always came back.

The tactical reports were strange, and it took her a moment to understand what she was looking at. The broken-down battleship had repaired itself somehow. And the fleet of enemy ships was running away, but not for the far edges of the system. They were going to the gate. Most of them, anyway. Almost all of them.

All of them but four. And those were in a path to Laconia. It was suicide. Four ships against the Whirlwind. Unless they had a secret weapon the way they had in Sol system…

But no, the Whirlwind couldn’t stop them. It had already gone too far, and even with the braking burn, its vector was still away from the planet. It was fighting its own mass and momentum like a swimmer struggling against the outgoing tide. The destroyers were in the same position. They’d been tricked. Lured away with only the planetary defense grid to protect them.

Which, in fairness, it probably could. Four ships weren’t much. They’d do some damage, though. And there was only one target. She was sitting in it.

She knew she should be scared, but she wasn’t. She put down her handheld, scratched Muskrat’s back, and thought. It didn’t even feel like solving a problem so much as remembering something she’d always known. She pulled up a map of the system and added in the enemy ships, their burn times. A lot would depend on how they made their braking burns, but Ilich had taught her enough about battle tactics that she could make an educated guess. Make a plan. If she called the enemy down, they’d kill her or take her as a prisoner. She needed something she could trade for passage. She didn’t know what that was.

And then she did.

Muskrat looked up at her when she laughed. The thump-thump-thump of the dog’s tail against the ground was reassuring. Without thinking, Teresa took another spoonful of chowder in her mouth, frowned, and sprinkled some salt over the bowl.

Her next bite was better.

The timing was bad, but it could have been worse. She left out the window as if she were sneaking out to see Timothy again. It felt familiar. Comforting. She knew it was the last time she’d see her room or her things. The last time she’d sleep in the bed that had been hers since she was a child. But her father had been dead for months, and it turned out she’d already done her mourning.

Muskrat whined as she slipped out, dancing from one paw to the other.

“You can’t come this time,” Teresa said. “I’m sorry.”

The dog whined, lifted graying eyebrows, and wagged hopefully. Teresa leaned back in and gave Muskrat one last long hug. Then she was out the window and gone before she lost her resolve.

The first step—the hard one, really—was getting to the cell. It was night. The snow was still falling lightly, but it wasn’t up past her shins. Getting out wouldn’t be the problem.

There were two guards watching over the cells, a man and a woman. They braced as she walked into the room.

“I wish to speak with the prisoner,” she said.

They looked at each other.

“I’m not sure—” the man said.

Teresa made an impatient sound. “Trejo has asked me to question him before. It’s about the assault. We don’t have time.”

The fear did it. The sense of an enemy almost at their gate, and the confidence that someone in power was taking care of it. Even if the voice of authority had just turned fifteen. They led her into the cell. She felt shaky with excitement. It was like being one of the adventurous women she’d watched on her screens, only it was real. She was doing it.

Holden sat up, blinking against the sudden light. His hair was standing at odd angles and his face had pink lines across it from the pillow. Teresa turned to the male guard.