Cibola Burn (Expanse 4)

“Elvi?” Fayez said, with a sardonic chuckle. “I believe that it isn’t.”

Chapter Three: Havelock

“Hey,” the engineer said blearily from the cell. “Havelock. You’re not still pissed, are you?”

Not my job to be pissed, Williams,” Havelock replied from where he floated beside his desk. The internal security station of the Edward Israel was small. Two desks, eight cells, a space as much brig as office. And with the ship in high orbit, the loss of effective gravity made it seem even smaller.

“Look, I know I got out of line, but I’m sober now. You can let me out.”

Havelock checked his hand terminal.

“Another fifty minutes,” he said, “and you’ll be free to go.”

“C’mon, Havelock. Have a heart.”

“It’s policy. Nothing I can do about it.”

Dimitri Havelock had worked security contracts for eight different corporations over thirteen years. Pinkwater, Star Helix, el-Hashem Cooperative, Stone & Sibbets, among others. Even, briefly, Protogen. He’d been in the Belt, on Earth, Mars, and Luna. He’d done long-haul work on supply ships heading from Ganymede to Earth. He’d dealt with everything from riots to intimate violence to drug trafficking to one idiot who’d had a thing for stealing people’s socks. He hadn’t seen everything, but he’d seen a lot. Enough to know he’d probably never see everything. And enough to recognize that how he reacted to a crisis was more about the people on his team than with the crisis itself.

When the reactor had gone on Aten Base, his partner and supervisor had both panicked, and Havelock remembered the overwhelming fear in his own gut. When the riots had started on Ceres after the ice hauler Canterbury had been destroyed, his partner had been more weary than fearful, and Havelock had faced the situation with the same grim resignation. When the Ebisu had been quarantined for nipahvirus, his boss had been energized – almost elated – running the ship like a puzzle that had to be solved, and Havelock had been caught up in the pleasure of doing an important thing well.

Humans, Havelock knew from long experience, were first and foremost social animals, and he himself was profoundly human. It was more romantic – hell, more masculine – to pretend he was an island, unaffected by the waves of emotion around him. But it wasn’t true, and he’d made his peace with that fact.

When the word came that the heavy shuttle’s landing pad had exploded and the reports of casualties started coming in, Murtry’s response had been an efficient and focused rage, and so Havelock’s had been too. All the activity was on the planetary surface, so the only outlet had been on the Edward Israel itself. And how things went on the Israel were firmly in Havelock’s wheelhouse.

“Please?” Williams whined from the cell. “I need to get some clean clothes. It’s not going to make any difference, is it? A few minutes?”

“If it’s not going make any difference, it won’t matter if you see it through,” Havelock said. “Forty-five minutes, and you’re on your way. Just sit back and try to enjoy them.”

“Can’t sit back when you’re floating in orbit.”

“It’s a metaphor. Don’t be a literalist.”

The Edward Israel assignment had been a great contract. Royal Charter Energy was the first real expedition out into the new systems that the rings had opened up, and the importance the company put on the mission’s success were reflected in the size of the benefit package they were willing to put together. Every day on the Israel had been paid a hazard bonus, even when they were just loading on supplies and crew from Luna. And with almost a year and a half out, a six-year stretch before the scheduled return to Earth, and another eighteen months back – all at full pay – it was almost less a contract than a career plan.

And still, Havelock had hesitated before he signed up.

He’d seen the footage from Eros and Ganymede, the bloodbath in the so-called slow zone when the alien defenses had stopped the ships suddenly enough to slaughter a third of the people in them. With the massive density of scientists and engineers packed into the Israel, it was impossible to forget that they were going into the unknown. Here there be monsters.

And now Governor Trying was dead. Severn Astrapani, the statistician who’d sung Ryu-pop classics in the talent competition, was dead. Amanda Chu, who’d flirted with Havelock one time when they were both a little tipsy, was dead. Half the men and women on the first team were injured. The supplies on the heavy shuttle – and the heavy shuttle itself – were gone. And the quiet that came over the Edward Israel was like the moment of shock between the impact of a blow and the pain. And then the rage and the grief. Not only the crew’s. Havelock’s too.

His hand terminal chimed. The message was tagged for security services. Murtry, Wei, Trajan, Smith, and himself. Havelock opened it with a sense of pleasure. He might be the least senior person in the room, but he was still in the room. Being included made him feel like maybe he’d have some control over events after all. It was an illusion, but that didn’t bother him. He took in the message quickly, nodded to himself, and keyed the release code for the cell.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting I have to be at.”

Williams pulled himself out of the cell. His salt-and-pepper hair was disarrayed and his skin looked grayer than usual. “Thank you,” he said sullenly.

“Just don’t do that again,” Havelock said. “Things are going to be hard enough without people who should know better making it worse.”

“I was just drunk,” the engineer said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know,” Havelock said. “Just don’t let it happen again. All right?”

Williams nodded, not making eye contact, then pulled himself along the handholds and launched himself up the tube toward the crew quarters and clothes that weren’t ripped or stained with vomit. Havelock waited until he’d gone, then shut down the security station and headed toward the meeting room.

Murtry was already there. He was a small man, but with an energy that seemed to radiate from him like heat. Havelock knew that the security chief had worked corporate prisons and high-end industrial security his whole career. Between that and the simple fact that he’d been put in charge of the Israel, he didn’t have to work for respect from the team. Floating beside him, information specialist Chandra Wei and ground operations second Hassan Smith looked serious and grim.