“What the hell!” Holden said. “I just said no punitive action. I mean, I just said that.”
“You did. That wasn’t punitive action, it was a response to a direct verbal threat.” Murtry put his pistol away and turned back to Holden. “We’ve established martial law here, under article 71 of the UN charter for exploration of this world. Any threat to RCE personnel will be dealt with swiftly and with prejudice.”
He stared at Holden for several long seconds, then said, “Might should put your gun away, Captain.”
Amos took a half step forward, but Holden put a hand on his arm. “Put it away, Amos.” He holstered his own gun, and a second later the RCE team did the same.
“I’m glad we could establish this working rapport so quickly. I’d recommend you get settled in,” Murtry said. “I’ll come by for a visit later.”
~
The coordinator had set aside rooms for Holden and Amos in the large, boxy prefab warehouse structure that had been converted into a combination of general store, commissary, and pub. The rooms in back were furnished with a cot, a table, and a water basin for washing.
“They gave us the presidential suite, I see,” Amos said, dumping his bags on the floor of his tiny room. “I need a drink.”
“Give me a second,” Holden said, then went into his own room and called up to the Rocinante. He delivered a full report of the landing and the shooting of Coop. Naomi promised to beam it back to Fred and Avasarala for him, and told him to be careful.
The bar, such as it was, consisted of four shaky card tables and twenty or so chairs scattered near the commissary corner of the building. Amos was waiting with two bottles of beer when Holden finished up his report.
“That went well.”
“Get the feeling we may be in over our heads here?” Amos asked after a few companionable sips of beer.
“Feels about normal to me,” Holden replied.
“Yep.”
They were on their second beer each when Murtry arrived. He talked to the bartender for a minute, then sat down across from Holden and put a bottle of whiskey and three glasses on the table.
“Have a drink with me, Captain,” he said, pouring out three shots.
“You’re going to go to prison for what you did today,” Holden said, then tossed back his shot. The whiskey had the sour moldy taste of Belter distillations. “I plan to make sure of that.”
Murtry shrugged. “Maybe. My plan is to make sure all my people survive long enough for prison to be an issue. I’ve lost almost twenty now, between the attack on the shuttle and the murder of my ground team. I won’t lose any more.”
“You’re a corporate security detail. You don’t get to declare martial law and shoot people who don’t cooperate. I wouldn’t put up with that from legitimate governments, much less a rent-a-cop like you.” Holden poured himself another drink and sipped at it.
“What’s the name of this planet?”
“What?”
“The planet. What’s its name?”
Holden leaned forward, the word Ilus on his lips. He paused. Murtry’s smile was thin.
“You’ve spent a lot of time working for the OPA, Captain Holden. And you’re on record as harboring a deep-seated dislike of the kind of business that employs me. I have some reservations about your ability to address the situation here in an unbiased manner. Threatening me and calling me names doesn’t do much to reassure me.”
“You undermined my authority by killing a Belter within five minutes of my arrival,” Holden said.
“I did. And I understand that could make you feel that I’m not taking your role here seriously. But your friends in the UN are a year and a half away,” Murtry said. “Think about that. It takes between eight and eleven hours to have the first two exchanges of a conversation, and almost nineteen months to get here from there at civilian speeds. Our local governor has been murdered by terrorists. My people have been killed for trying to enforce our legal rights. Do you honestly think I’m going to wait for you to fix what’s wrong here? No, I’ll shoot everyone who threatens the RCE expedition or its employees, and I’ll sleep well afterward. That’s the reality of where you are now. Better get used to it.”
“I know who you are,” Amos said.
The big man had been so quiet that both Murtry and Holden started with surprise.
“Who am I?” Murtry asked, playing along.
“A killer,” Amos said. His face was expressionless, his tone light. “You’ve got a nifty excuse and the shiny badge to make you seem right, but that’s not what this is about. You got off on smoking that guy in front of everyone. You can’t wait to do it again.”
“Is that right?” Murtry asked.
“Yeah. So, one killer to another, you don’t want to try that shit with us.”
“Amos, easy,” Holden warned, but the other two men ignored him.
“That sounded like a threat,” Murtry said.
“Oh, it really was,” Amos replied with a grin.
Holden realized both men had their hands below the table. “Hey, now.”
“I think maybe one of us is going to end bloody,” Murtry said.
“How about now?” Amos replied with a shrug. “I’m free now. We can just skip all the middle part.”
Murtry and Amos smiled at each other across the table for an endless moment while Holden ran though contingencies in his mind: What if Amos gets shot, what if Murtry gets shot, what if I get shot.
“You fellas have a nice day,” Murtry said, standing slowly. His hand was not on his gun. “Keep the bottle.”
“Thanks!” Amos replied, pouring another drink.
Murtry nodded at them, then walked out of the bar.
Holden let out an exhalation that he’d been holding for what seemed like an hour. “Yeah, I think we are in way over our heads here,” he admitted.
“I’m gonna need to shoot that guy at some point,” Amos said, then tossed back another shot.
“I wish you wouldn’t. This is already looking like a train wreck, and in addition to chewing up a few hundred colonists and scientists, which is bad enough, it will also be my fault when it all falls apart.”
“Shooting him might help.”
“I hope not,” Holden said, but he was worried that Amos was right.
Interlude: The Investigator
— it reaches out it reaches out it reaches out it reaches out —