“I did,” Holden said. “I do. It’s why I came here. To warn you.”
Duarte leaned back. The bunk was thin and uncomfortable. He didn’t envy Holden’s having to sleep on it. But there was a breeze through the window and a bit of sunlight. The cell was still more luxurious than half of the ship cabins Duarte had been assigned early in his career.
Holden’s hands were open as if he were offering something. And he was, but it wasn’t what he thought.
“I don’t need a warning,” Duarte said. “I need an ally. You have seen things no one else has ever seen. You know things I need to know, and you might not even be aware of the significance of some of it. Doctor Cortazár has been trying to find that. Help him. Work with him. Work with me.”
“To do what?”
“To take the shards of the protomolecule’s broken sword and reforge it. To bring humanity into a single community that is functional and strong. And prepare us.”
Holden laughed, but there was no mirth in it. Duarte knew he hadn’t reached the man. That was disappointing.
“Prepare us for what?” Holden asked. “To poke gods with a sharp stick?”
“No, Captain Holden. No sticks,” Duarte said. “When you fight gods, you storm heaven.”