Abaddon's Gate

“Hey. Hey,” the other prisoner said. He wasn’t shouting, just talking loud enough that his voice carried. “Was that true? You have glandular implants? Can you break the door? I’m the captain of this ship. If you can get me out of here, I can help you.”

Julie had been the best singer, except that she wouldn’t do it. Didn’t like performing. Father had been the performer. He’d always been the one to lead when there were songs to be sung. He was always the one to direct the poses when the family pictures were taken. He was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. Only he was in prison now. Not even a name, only a number. She wondered whether his cell was like hers. It would be nice if it was. Only his would be under a full g, of course. The spin gravity wasn’t even up to a half g. Maybe a third, maybe even less. Like Mars or Ceres. Fu

“Are you there? Are you awake? I saw them bring you in. Help me, and I’ll help you. Amnesty. I can get you amnesty. And protection. They can’t extradite from Ceres.”

That wasn’t true, and she knew it. A

“I have been taken prisoner in an illegal mutiny,” the man said. “We can help each other.”

She wasn’t entirely sure that she could be helped. Or if she could, what she would be helped to do. She remembered wanting something once. Holden. That was right. She’d wanted him dead and worse than dead. Her fantasies of it were so strong, they were like memories. But no, she haddone it. Everyone had hated him. They’d tried to kill him. But something else had gone wrong, and they’d thought that Julie did it.

She’d been so close. If she could have killed the Rocinante, they would never have found her. If she’d died on it, they’d never have been sure, and Holden would have gone down in history as the smug, self-righteous bastard that he was. But her father would have known. All that way away, he’d have heard what happened, and he would have guessed that she’d done it. His daughter. The one he could finally be proud of.

It occurred to her that the other prisoner had gone quiet. That was fine. He was a

The footsteps came again. More of them, this time. The plastic boots made a satisfying clump-clump, but there were other ones now. High, clicking footsteps, like a dog’s claws on tile. She felt a tiny flicker of curiosity, like a candle in a cathedral. The boots came, and with them, little blue pumps. An older woman’s ankles. The bars clanked and swung open. The pumps hesitated at the threshold, and then came in. Once they were in motion, the steps were confident. Sure.

The woman in the pumps sat, her back against the wall. Tilly Fagan looked down at her. Her hair was dyed, and her lipstick the same improbable red that made her lips look fuller than they were.

“Claire, honey?” The words were soft and uncomfortable. “It’s me.”

Tension crawled up her back and into her cheeks. Tension, and resentment at the tension. Aunt Tilly didn’t have any right to be here. She shouldn’t have been.

Tilly put a hand out, reaching down and stroking her head like it was a cat. The first human touch she could remember since she’d come to. The first gentle one she could remember at all. When Tilly spoke, her voice was low and soft and full of regret.

“They found your friend.”

I don’t have a friend, she thought, and then something deep under her sternum shifted and went hollow. Ren. They’d found Ren. She pulled her arm out from under her body, pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. The tears were warm and unwelcome and thick as a flood. They’d found Ren. They’d opened her tool chest and found his bones and now Soledad would know. And Bob and Sta

“I’m sorry,” she shrieked. The words ripped at her throat. They had hooks on them. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I know, honey. I know.”

She had her arms around Tilly’s waist now, burying her face against her side, holding on to her like Tilly’s body could keep her from sinking down. From drowning. The guard said something, and she felt Tilly shaking her head no, the motion translated through their bodies.

“I did it,” she said. “I killed him. I thought I had to. I told him to look at the readout so that he’d bend, so that he’d bend his neck, and he did. And I—and I—and I— Oh, God, I’m going to puke.”

“Trashy people puke,” Tilly said. “Ladies are unwell.”

It made her laugh. Despite everything, Clarissa laughed, and then she put her head down again and cried. Her chest hurt so badly she was sure something really was breaking. Aortic aneurysm, pulmonary embolism, something. Sorrow couldn’t really feel like a heart breaking, could it? That was just a phrase.

It went on forever. And then past that, and then it slowed. Her body was as limp as a rag. Tilly’s blouse was soaked with tears and snot and saliva, but she was still sitting just as she’d been. Her hand still ran through Clarissa’s hair. Her fingernails traced the curve of her ear.

“You put the bomb on the Seung Un,” Tilly said, “and framed Jim Holden for it.”

It wasn’t a question or an accusation. She didn’t want Clarissa to confess, just to confirm. Clarissa nodded against Tilly’s lap. When she spoke, her voice clicked and her throat felt thick and raw.

“He hurt Daddy. Had to do something.”

Tilly sighed.

“Your father is a first-class shit,” she said, and because it was her saying it, it didn’t hurt to hear.

“I’ve got to tell the chief,” the guard said, apology in her voice. “I mean about what happened. He wants me to report in.”

“I’m not stopping you,” Tilly said.

“You need to come with me,” the guard said. “I can’t leave you there with her. It’s not safe.”

A flash of panic lit her mind. She couldn’t be alone. Not now. They couldn’t leave her locked up and alone.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tilly said. “You go do whatever it is you need to do. I’ll be here with Claire.”

“Ah. That girl killed a lot of people, ma’am.”

The silence was just a beat, and without shifting her head, Clarissa knew what look was on Tilly’s face. The guard cleared her throat.

“I’ll have to lock the door, ma’am.”

“Do what you need to, Officer,” Tilly said.

The bars shifted and crashed. The lock clacked home. The footsteps retreated. Clarissa wept for Ren. Maybe the others would come later. The dead soldiers on the Seung Un. Holden’s lover whom she’d beaten and brutalized. All the men and women who’d died because they’d followed Holden through the Ring. She might have tears for them, but now it was only Ren, and she didn’t think she would stop in her lifetime.

“I deserve to die,” she said. “I’ve become a very bad person.”

Tilly didn’t disagree, but she didn’t stop cradling her either.

“There’s someone I’d like you to talk to,” she said.