Bobbie pointed a thumb to herself. “Captain Bobbie Draper.” She turned to the others. “Alex Kamal. Clarissa Mao. Amos Burton. Now, who the fuck are you?”
The pretty man scowled, tilting his head like he was trying to recall a song that was just at the edge of memory. It was a look she’d seen before, and she didn’t feel like helping him place her. Not yet, anyway.
“Saba,” the man said at last, “and that’s enough for you right now.”
“You’re playing this all pretty close to the chest, Saba,” Bobbie said.
“Not interested in being under the authority of the authorities,” he said. “I’ve got reasons for that.”
“Well, I’m not working for Laconia, so we can stop the bullshit, right?”
“Not sure we can,” Saba said. His hand terminal chimed—a sound Bobbie didn’t remember hearing since the crackdown—but he ignored it. Interesting that he had a working hand terminal, though. The chances that he was the real deal went up in her estimation.
“Heard you were looking to get in touch with the underground,” Saba said. “Leaves a man wondering why. You looking to trade with the new boss?”
“Nope,” Bobbie said.
“Then you thinking you’re going to come tell us what to do?”
Bobbie smiled. She could feel her teeth against her lips. Either they were going to back each other down, or this was going to end in blood. She hoped it was the former, but it wasn’t her call. “We were there when that fucking idiot tried to kill the governor. If that’s the level you people are working at, then yes, I’d be happy to help organize. Someone ought to.”
Saba’s face was cool. “Belters been standing under the oppressors’ boot for generations. You think you’ve got something to teach
“Apparently so,” Bobbie said. “Seems like some of you assholes have gotten pretty rusty.”
A little darkness came to Saba’s olive cheeks. He stood up, stepped forward. Bobbie took her own step in to meet him. If she showed weakness now, they’d never take her seriously again. The chirp of his hand terminal seemed to come from another universe.
“What?” Bobbie said, not giving him the tempo. “You planning to do this without any allies? Without any support? You against the Laconian Empire? I’ve seen how that went up to now, and—”
“Saba!”
The new voice came from behind her. She didn’t want to turn her back on the three Belters, but she didn’t want someone unknown at her back either.
“Saba!” the voice said again. It sounded young. Excited. Bobbie threw a glance over her shoulder. A young woman in a green jumpsuit, grinning like someone had just given her a present.
“Que, Nanda?” Saba asked.
“Found someone,” the girl said. “Look.”
And from behind the girl, Holden and Naomi came into the room, squinting at the ugly light.
“Hey!” Holden said, and then “Bobbie. This is great. I wasn’t sure how we were going to find you.”
Saba whistled low. “James fucking Holden. You’ll no believe how much I’ve heard about you.”
“All good, I hope?” Holden said, walking forward, oblivious to the tension in the room. Or maybe choosing to ignore it. It was always hard to tell with him. “You’ve met my old crew already?”
“You crew?” Saba said, then looked at Bobbie as if seeing her for the first time. He laughed. “Savvy I did. Well, then. Welcome to the underground.”
She smiled, but something ugly plucked at her guts.
The image was grainy, the sound almost as much noise as signal. Half a dozen encryption layers poured on and then stripped back out left their artifacts in the flattened audio and near-false colors. Drummer’s heart softened all the same, because there in the middle of it—unmistakably—was Saba. His eyes had the little puff at the lower lid that he got when he was tired, but his smile was luminous.
“No savvy you how good it was to get your message, Cami,” he said. “Heart outside my body, you are. And no one better than us two to be where we’re sitting.”
“I love you too,” she told the screen, but only because no one else was in her office.
Avasarala’s covert contacts had come through faster than Drummer had hoped. That they’d come through at all was something of a shock. She had been willing to believe the old woman was overstating her powers, claiming a level of influence that retirement and age had long since taken from her. But here was evidence that, whatever else she was, Chrisjen Avasarala wasn’t completely full of shit. Saba had burrowed deep into Medina Station like a tick, making connections with as many union operatives as he safely could. And by union, more often than not, he meant OPA.
