Tiny touches shifted them as the maneuvering rockets fired. Holden knew that Alex was guiding them in, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Donnager was swallowing them.
Docking took nearly an hour. Once the Knight was inside the bay, a massive manipulator arm grabbed her and put it down in an empty section of the deck. Clamps grabbed the ship, the Knight’s hull reverberating with a metallic bang that reminded Holden of a brig cell’s maglocks.
The Martians ran a docking tube from one wall and mated up to the Knight’s airlock. Holden gathered the crew at the inner door.
“No guns, no knives, no anything that might look like a weapon,” he said. “They’ll probably be okay with hand terminals, but keep them turned off just in case. If they ask for it, hand it over without complaint. Our survival here may rest on them thinking we’re very compliant.”
“Yeah,” Amos said. “Fuckers killed McDowell, but we have to act nice… ”
Alex started to respond, but Holden cut him off.
“Alex, you did twenty flying with the MCRN. Anything else we should know?”
“Same stuff you said, Boss,” Alex replied. “Yes sir, no sir, and snap to when given an order. The enlisted guys will be okay, but the officers get the sense of humor trained out of ’em.”
Holden looked at his tiny crew, hoping he hadn’t killed them all by bringing them here. He cycled open the lock, and they drifted down the short docking tube in the zero g. When they reached the airlock at the end—flat gray composites and immaculately clean—everyone pushed down to the floor. Their magnetic boots grabbed on. The airlock closed and hissed at them for several seconds before opening into a larger room with about a dozen people standing in it. Holden recognized Captain Theresa Yao. There were several others in naval officers’ dress, who were part of her staff; one man in an enlisted uniform with a look of thinly veiled impatience; and six marines in heavy combat armor, carrying assault rifles. The rifles were pointed at him, so Holden put up his hands.
“We’re not armed,” he said, smiling and trying to look harmless.
The rifles didn’t waver, but Captain Yao stepped forward.
“Welcome aboard the Donnager,” she said. “Chief, check them.”
The enlisted man clumped toward them and quickly and professionally patted them all down. He gave the thumbs-up to one of the marines. The rifles went down, and Holden worked hard not to sigh with relief.
“What now, Captain?” Holden asked, keeping his voice light.
Yao looked Holden over critically for several seconds before answering. Her hair was pulled tightly back, the few strands of gray making straight lines. In person, he could see the softening of age at her jaw and the corners of her eyes. Her stony expression had the same quiet arrogance that all the naval captains he’d known shared. He wondered what she saw, looking at him. He resisted the urge to straighten his greasy hair.
“Chief Gunderson will take you down to your rooms and get you settled in,” she replied. “Someone will be along shortly to debrief you.”
Chief Gunderson started to lead them from the room when Yao spoke again, her voice suddenly hard.
“Mr. Holden, if you know anything about the six ships that are following you, speak now,” she said. “We gave them a two-hour deadline to change course about an hour ago. So far they haven’t. In one hour I’m going to order a torpedo launch. If they’re friends of yours, you could save them a great deal of pain.”
Holden shook his head emphatically.
“All I know is they came out of the Belt when you started out to meet us, Captain,” Holden said. “They haven’t talked to us. Our best guess is they’re concerned citizens of the Belt coming to watch what happens.”
Yao nodded. If she found the thought of witnesses disconcerting, it didn’t show.
“Take them below, Chief,” she said, then turned away.
Chief Gunderson gave a soft whistle and pointed at one of the two doors. Holden’s crew followed him out, the marines bringing up the rear. As they moved through the Donnager, Holden took his first really up-close look at a Martian capital ship. He’d never served on a battleship in the UN Navy, and he’d stepped foot on them maybe three times in seven years, always in dock, and usually for a party. Every inch of the Donnager was just a little sharper than any UN vessel he’d served on. Mars really does build them better than we do.
“Goddamn, XO, they sure do keep their shit squeaky clean,” Amos said behind him.
“Ain’t much to do on a long flight for most of the crew, Amos,” Alex said. “So when you aren’t doin’ somethin’ else, you clean.”
“See, that’s why I work haulers,” Amos said. “Clean decks or get drunk and screw, and I’ve got a preference.”
As they walked through a maze of corridors, the ship started a slight vibration, and gravity slowly reappeared. They were under thrust. Holden used his heels to touch his boots’ slide controls, turning the magnets off.
They saw almost no one, and the few they did see moved fast and said little, barely sparing them a glance. With six ships closing on them, everyone would be at their duty stations. When Captain Yao had said she’d fire her torpedoes in an hour, there hadn’t been a hint of threat in her voice. It was just a flat statement of fact. For most of the young sailors on this ship, it would probably be the first time they’d ever been in a live combat situation—if it came to that. Holden didn’t believe it would.
He wondered what to make of the fact that Yao was prepared to take out a handful of Belt ships just because they were running quiet and close. It didn’t suggest that they’d hesitate to kill a water hauler, like the Cant, if they thought there was reason to.
Gunderson brought them to a stop in front of a hatch with OQ117 printed on it. He slid a card through the lock and gestured everyone inside.
“Better than I’d expected,” Shed said, sounding impressed.
The compartment was large by ship standards. It had six high-g couches and a small table with four chairs stuck to the deck with magnetic feet. An open door in one bulkhead showed a smaller compartment with a toilet and sink. Gunderson and the marine lieutenant followed the crew inside.
“This is your rack for the time being,” the chief said. “There’s a comm panel on the wall. Two of Lieutenant Kelly’s people will be stationed outside. Buzz them and they’ll send for anything you need.”
“How about some chow?” Amos said.
“We’ll have some sent up. You are to remain here until called for,” Gunderson said. “Lieutenant Kelly, you have anything to add, sir?”
The marine lieutenant looked them over.
“The men outside are there for your protection, but they will react unpleasantly if you make any trouble,” he said. “You read me?”
“Loud and clear, Lieutenant,” Holden said. “Don’t worry. My people will be the easiest houseguests you’ve ever had.”
Kelly nodded at Holden with what seemed like genuine gratitude. He was a professional doing an unpleasant job. Holden sympathized. Also, he’d known enough marines to know how unpleasant it could get if they felt challenged.
Gunderson said, “Can you take Mr. Holden here to his appointment on your way out, El Tee? I’d like to get these folks squared away.”
Kelly nodded and took Holden’s elbow.
“Come with me, sir,” he said.
“Where am I going, Lieutenant?”
“Lieutenant Lopez asked to see you as soon as you landed. I’m taking you to him.”
Shed looked nervously from the marine to Holden and back. Naomi nodded. They’d all see each other again, Holden told himself. He even thought it was likely to be true.
Kelly led Holden at a brisk pace through the ship. His rifle was no longer at the ready but hanging from his shoulder loosely. Either he’d decided Holden wasn’t going to cause trouble, or that he could take him down easily if he did.
“Can I ask who Lieutenant Lopez is?”
“He’s the guy who asked to see you,” Kelly said.
Kelly stopped at a plain gray door, rapped once, then took Holden inside a small compartment with a table and two uncomfortable-looking chairs. A dark-haired man was setting up a recorder. He waved one hand vaguely in the direction of a chair. Holden sat. The chair was even less comfortable than it looked.
“You can go, Mr. Kelly,” the man Holden assumed was Lopez said. Kelly left and closed the door.
When Lopez had finished, he sat down across the table from Holden and reached out one hand. Holden shook it.
“I’m Lieutenant Lopez. Kelly probably told you that. I work for naval intelligence, which he almost certainly didn’t tell you. My job isn’t secret, but they train jarheads to be tight-lipped.”
Lopez reached into his pocket, took out a small packet of white lozenges, and popped one into his mouth. He didn’t offer one to Holden. Lopez’s pupils contracted to tiny points as he sucked the lozenge. Focus drugs. He’d be watching every tic of Holden’s face during questioning. Tough to lie to.
“First Lieutenant James R. Holden, of Montana,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, sir,” Holden said anyway.
“Seven years in the UNN, last posting on the destroyer Zhang Fei.”
“That’s me.”
“Your file says you were busted out for assaulting a superior officer,” Lopez said. “That’s pretty cliché, Holden. You punched the old man? Seriously?”
“No. I missed. Broke my hand on a bulkhead.”
“How’d that happen?”
“He was quicker than I expected,” Holden replied.
“Why’d you try?”
“I was projecting my self-loathing onto him. It’s just a stroke of luck that I actually wound up hurting the right person,” Holden said.
“Sounds like you’ve thought about it some since then,” Lopez said, his pinprick pupils never moving from Holden’s face. “ Therapy?”