“Still.”
“It’s something I can still do,” Fred said. “I’m sure as hell going to do it.”
Fred’s old office was still being repaired. Until its walls and floor didn’t open on vacuum, Drummer had set up a space for him near the overfull brig. It was a smaller space, less comfortable and less imposing. Holden couldn’t be in it without feeling like Fred had given himself a demotion. Or had accepted without complaint the one the universe had handed to him.
Fred settled in behind his desk and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “The truth is that almost everything we do here won’t even be a footnote in the history books.”
“You don’t know that. You’re just feeling discouraged,” Holden said, but Fred was already pulling up his work on the desk monitor.
“I had two messages last night. Well, more than that, but two that were interesting. The first was from Earth. Avasarala was on Luna when it happened, and she’s putting together a response.”
“A response?”
“A diplomatic conference. The Martian prime minister was already en route. She wants me to be there too. To ‘represent the slightly less batshit wing of the OPA.’ If humanity really rests on that woman’s diplomatic skills… well, that’ll be interesting.”
“What’s the worst that could happen? War?”
Fred coughed out a grim laugh. “I’ve already talked with Drummer. She’s ready to take over operation of Tycho in my absence.”
“You’re going to go, then?”
“I don’t know if I’ll go there, but I won’t stay here. There’s something else I wanted you to see.”
Fred opened a message, and gestured Holden toward it. A pale-skinned man with close-cut white hair and the wrinkles of early age competing with acne scars of long-past youth. The date stamp at the lower left corner said it had been sent from Pallas Station.
“Anderson Dawes,” Fred said. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Big mover and shaker in the OPA, isn’t he?”
“The man who reached out to me, back in the day. Made me into the inward-facing figurehead of the Belt. Instrumental in the transition of Ceres to OPA oversight. The last few years, he’s been negotiating for the OPA to have a stake in Ganymede equal to Earth and Mars.”
“All right,” Holden said.
Fred started the recording, and the man came to life. His voice was gravelly and low, like he’d been punched in the throat too many times. “Fred. I know this has got to be a hard time for you. For what it’s worth, it’s pretty shocking to all of us. But so it goes. History’s made of surprises that seem obvious in retrospect. I want you to know, I didn’t sanction any of this. But I know the men who did, and say what you will about their methods, they’re true patriots.”
“What the fuck is this?” Holden said.
“Wait for it,” Fred said.
“I’m reaching out to you now to make peace within the organization. I know as well as you do how much you’ve sacrificed and how hard you’ve worked for the OPA over the years. It’s not forgotten. But we’re in a new age now, and it carries its own logic. I know you’re enough of a man to recognize the difference between justice and the things that have to happen. I’ll get you back in the fold. I swear to that. But I’m going to need a token. Something I can take to the new powers to show that you’re a reasonable man. That you can negotiate. You’ve taken a prisoner. Not one of the people who participated in the insurrection. Even they know asking that so soon is a bridge too far. But a prisoner of yours nonetheless. His name’s William Sakai. As a gesture of good faith, I’m asking that you turn him over to me at Pallas Station, in return for which I will guarantee you a seat at the table when —”
Fred stopped the recording, Anderson Dawes caught with his eyes and mouth half-open.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Holden said.
“No one’s laughing.”
Holden sat down on the edge of the desk, staring at the frozen man, his chest a welter of conflicting emotions: anger, surprise, outrage, amusement, despair. “You could tell him we already threw him out an airlock.”
“Would that be before or after we threw him out an airlock?”
“Either way works for me.”
Fred smiled and shut down the display. “You say that, but you wouldn’t do it. Even angry, you’re too decent a man. And it turns out I am too.”
“Really?”
“I got soft when I got old. Everything seems… delicate to me now. We’re still under lockdown, and I have to open that up. Have to get some semblance of normalcy. That’s not the point, though. I have invitations to two tables. The inner planets are in retreat. They’re regrouping. The radicals within the OPA are becoming the new leadership.”