Leviathan Wakes e-1

by James S. A. Corey

  “Watched the fight, hermano. You guys really kicked some ass.”

  “Thanks,” said Alex. “How’s it goin’ in here?”

  The soldier with the most stars on his OPA insignia said, “Less resistance than expected, but the Protogen security’s been fighting for every foot of real estate. Even some of the egg-heads have been coming at us. We’ve had to shoot a few.”

  He pointed at the inner airlock door.

  “Fred’s heading up to ops. Wants you people up there, pronto.”

  “Lead the way,” Holden replied, his nose turning it into lee da way.

  “How’s that leg, Cap?” Amos asked as they walked along the station corridor. Holden realized he’d forgotten about the limp his gunshot to the calf had left him.

  “Doesn’t hurt, but the muscle doesn’t flex as much,” he replied. “Yours?”

  Amos grinned and glanced down at the leg that still limped from the fracture he’d suffered on the Donnager months earlier.

  “No biggie,” he said. “The ones that don’t kill you don’t count.”

  Holden started to reply, then stopped when the group rounded a corner into a slaughterhouse. They were clearly coming up behind the assault team, because now the corridor floor was littered with bodies, the walls with bullet holes and scorch marks. To his relief, Holden saw a lot more bodies in Protogen security armor than in OPA gear. But there were enough dead Belters on the floor to make his stomach twist. When he passed a dead man in a lab coat, he had to stop himself from spitting on the floor. The security guys had maybe made a bad decision in going to work for the wrong team, but the scientists on this station had killed a million and a half people just to see what would happen. They couldn’t be dead enough for Holden’s comfort.

  Something tugged at him, and he paused. Lying next to the dead scientist was what looked like a kitchen knife.

  “Huh,” Holden said. “He didn’t come at you guys with that, did he?”

  “Yeah, crazy, no?” said one of their escorts. “I heard of bringing a knife to a gunfight, but… ”

  “Ops is up ahead,” said the ranking trooper. “General’s waiting.”

  Holden entered the stations’ ops center and saw Fred, Miller, a bunch of OPA troops, and one stranger in an expensive-looking suit. A line of technicians and operations staff in Protogen uniform had their wrists cuffed and were being led away. The room was covered deck to ceiling in screens and monitors, most of which were spooling text data too fast to read.

  “Let me get this straight,” Fred was saying. “You’ll give me all the kingdoms of the Earth if I just bow down and do one act of worship for you?”

  “I don’t know the reference,” the stranger said.

  Whatever else they were about to say stopped when Miller noticed Holden and tapped Fred on the shoulder. Holden could swear that the detective gave him a warm smile, though on his dour face it was hard to tell.

  “Jim,” Fred said, then gestured for him to come closer. He was reading a matte black business card. “Meet Antony Dresden, executive VP of bio research for Protogen, and the architect of the Eros project.”

  The asshole in the suit actually reached out like he was going to shake hands. Holden ignored him.

  “Fred,” he said. “Casualties?”

  “Shockingly low.”

  “Half their security had non-lethals,” Miller said. “Riot control. Sticky rounds. Like that.”

  Holden nodded and then shook his head and frowned.

  “I saw a lot of Protogen security bodies out there in the corridor. Why have so many guys and then give them weapons that can’t repel boarders?”

  “Good question,” Miller agreed.

  Dresden chuckled.

  “This is what I mean, Mr. Johnson,” Dresden said. He turned to Holden. “Jim? Well then, Jim. The fact that you don’t understand this station’s security needs tells me that you have no idea what you’ve become involved with. And I think you know that as well as I do. As I was saying to Fred here-”

  “Antony, you need to shut the fuck up,” Holden said, surprised by the sudden flush of anger. Dresden looked disappointed.

  The bastard had no right to be comfortable. Condescending. Holden wanted the man terrified, begging for his life, not sneering behind his cultured accent.

  “Amos, if he talks to me again without being told to, break his jaw.”

  “My pleasure, Captain,” Amos said, and took half a step forward.

  Dresden smirked at the ham-fisted threat but kept his mouth shut.

  “What do we know?” Holden asked, aiming the question at Fred.

  “We know the Eros data is coming here, and we know this piece of shit is in charge. We’ll know more once we’ve taken the place apart.”

  Holden turned to look at Dresden again, taking in the blue blood European good looks, the gym-sculpted physique, the expensive haircut. Even now, surrounded by men with guns, Dresden managed to look like he was in charge. Holden could imagine him glancing down at his watch and wondering how much more of his expensive time this boarding party was going to take.

  Holden said, “I need to ask him something.”

  Fred nodded. “You earned it.”

  “Why?” Holden asked. “I want to know why.”

  Dresden’s smile was almost pitying, and he stuck his hands into his pockets as casually as a man talking sports at a dockside bar.

  “ ‘Why’ is a very big question,” Dresden said. “Because God wanted it that way? Or perhaps you want to narrow it for me.”

  “Why Eros?”

  “Well, Jim-”

  “You can call me Captain Holden. I’m the guy that found your lost ship, so I’ve seen the video from Phoebe. I know what the protomolecule is.”

  “Really!” Dresden said, his smile becoming half a degree more genuine. “I have you to thank for turning the viral agent over to us on Eros. Losing the Anubis was going to put our timeline back months. Finding the infected body already there on the station was a godsend.”

  I knew it. I fucking knew it, Holden thought. Out loud, he said, “Why?”

  “You know what the agent is,” Dresden said, at a loss for the first time since Holden had come into the room. “I don’t know what more I can tell you. This is the most important thing to ever happen to the human race. It’s simultaneously proof that we are not alone in the universe, and our ticket out of the limitations that bind us to our little bubbles of rock and air.”

  “You aren’t answering me,” Holden said, hating the way his broken nose made his voice slightly comical when he wanted to be threatening. “I want to know why you killed a million and a half people.”

  Fred cleared his throat, but he didn’t interrupt. Dresden looked from Holden to the colonel and back again.

  “I am answering, Captain. A million and a half people is small potatoes. What we’re working with here is bigger than that,” Dresden said, then moved over to a chair and sat down, pulling up his pants leg as he crossed his knees, so as not to stretch the fabric. “Are you familiar with Genghis Khan?”

  “What?” Holden and Fred said at almost the same instant. Miller only stared at Dresden with a blank expression, tapping the barrel of his pistol against his own armored thigh.

  “Genghis Khan. There are some historians who claim that Genghis Kahn killed or displaced one quarter of the total human population of Earth during his conquest,” Dresden said. “He did that in pursuit of an empire that would begin falling apart as soon as he died. In today’s scale, that would mean killing nearly ten billion people in order to affect a generation. A generation and a half. Eros isn’t even a rounding error by comparison.”

  “You really don’t care,” Fred said, his voice quiet.

  “And unlike Khan, we aren’t doing it to build a brief empire. I know what you think. That we’re trying to aggrandize ourselves. Grab power.”

  “You don’t want to?” Holden said.

  “Of course we do.” Dresden’s voice was cutting. “Bu
t you’re thinking too small. Building humanity’s greatest empire is like building the world’s largest anthill. Insignificant. There is a civilization out there that built the protomolecule and hurled it at us over two billion years ago. They were already gods at that point. What have they become since then? With another two billion years to advance?”

  With a growing dread, Holden listened to Dresden speak. This speech had the air of something spoken before. Perhaps many times. And it had worked. It had convinced powerful people. It was why Protogen had stealth ships from the Earth shipyards and seemingly limitless behind-the-scenes support.

  “We have a terrifying amount of catching up to do, gentlemen,” Dresden was saying. “But fortunately we have the tool of our enemy to use in doing it.”

  “Catching up?” a soldier to Holden’s left said. Dresden nodded at the man and smiled.

  “The protomolecule can alter the host organism at the molecular level; it can create genetic change on the fly. Not just DNA, but any stable replicator. But it is only a machine. It doesn’t think. It follows instructions. If we learn how to alter that programming, then we become the architects of that change.”

  Holden interrupted. “If it was supposed to wipe out life on Earth and replace it with whatever the protomolecule’s creators wanted, why turn it loose?”

  “Excellent question,” Dresden said, holding up one finger like a college professor about to deliver a lecture. “The protomolecule doesn’t come with a user’s manual. In fact, we’ve never before been able to actually watch it carry out its program. The molecule requires significant mass before it develops enough processing power to fulfill its directives. Whatever they are.”

  Dresden pointed at the screens covered with data around them.

  “We are going to watch it at work. See what it intends to do. How it goes about doing it. And, hopefully, learn how to change that program in the process.”

  “You could do that with a vat of bacteria,” Holden said.

  “I’m not interested in remaking bacteria,” Dresden said.

  “You’re fucking insane,” Amos said, and took another step toward Dresden. Holden put a hand on the big mechanic’s shoulder.

  “So,” Holden said. “You figure out how the bug works, and then what?”

  “Then everything. Belters who can work outside a ship without wearing a suit. Humans capable of sleeping for hundreds of years at a time flying colony ships to the stars. No longer being bound to the millions of years of evolution inside one atmosphere of pressure at one g, slaves to oxygen and water. We decide what we want to be, and we reprogram ourselves to be that. That’s what the protomolecule gives us.”

  Dresden had stood back up as he’d delivered this speech, his face shining with the zeal of a prophet.

  “What we are doing is the best and only hope of humanity’s survival. When we go out there, we will be facing gods.”

  “And if we don’t go out?” Fred asked. He sounded thoughtful.

  “They’ve already fired a doomsday weapon at us once,” Dresden said.

  The room was silent for a moment. Holden felt his certainty slip. He hated everything about Dresden’s argument, but he couldn’t quite see his way past it. He knew in his bones that something about it was dead wrong, but he couldn’t find the words.

  Naomi’s voice startled him.

  “Did it convince them?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?” Dresden said.

  “The scientists. The technicians. Everyone you needed to make it happen. They actually had to do this. They had to watch the video of people dying all over Eros. They had to design those radioactive murder chambers. So unless you managed to round up every serial killer in the solar system and send them through a postgraduate program, how did you do this?”

  “We modified our science team to remove ethical restraints.”

  Half a dozen clues clicked into place in Holden’s head.

  “Sociopaths,” he said. “You turned them into sociopaths.”

  “High-functioning sociopaths,” Dresden said with a nod. He seemed pleased to explain it. “And extremely curious ones. As long as we kept them supplied with interesting problems to solve and unlimited resources, they remained quite content.”

  “And a big security team armed with riot control rounds for when they aren’t,” Fred said.

  “Yes, there are occasional issues,” Dresden said. He looked around, the slightest frown creasing his forehead. “I know. You think it’s monstrous, but I am saving the human race. I am giving humanity the stars. You disapprove? Fine. Let me ask you this. Can you save Eros? Right now.”

  “No,” Fred said, “but we can-”

  “Waste the data,” Dresden said. “You can make certain that every man, woman, and child who died on Eros died for nothing.”

  The room was silent. Fred was frowning, his arms crossed. Holden understood the struggle going on in the man’s mind. Everything Dresden said was repulsive and eerie and rang too much of the truth.

  “Or,” Dresden said, “we can negotiate a price, you can go on your way, and I can-”

  “Okay. That’s enough,” Miller said, speaking for the first time since Dresden had begun his pitch. Holden glanced over at the detective. His flat expression had gone stony. He wasn’t tapping the barrel of his pistol against his leg.

  Oh, shit.

  Chapter Forty-Two: Miller

  Dresden didn’t see it coming. Even as Miller raised the pistol, the man’s eyes didn’t register a threat. All he saw was Miller with an object in his hand that happened to be a gun. A dog would have known to be scared, but not Dresden.

  “Miller!” Holden shouted from a great distance. “Don’t!”

  Pulling the trigger was simple. A soft click, the bounce of metal against his glove-cushioned palm, and then again two more times. Dresden’s head snapped back, blooming red. Blood spattered a wide screen, obscuring the data stream. Miller stepped close, fired two more rounds into Dresden’s chest, considered for a moment, then holstered the pistol.

  The room was silent. The OPA soldiers were all looking at each other or at Miller, surprised, even after the press of the assault, by the sudden violence. Naomi and Amos were looking at Holden, and the captain was staring at the corpse. Holden’s injured face was set as a mask; fury, outrage, maybe even despair. Miller understood that. Doing the obvious thing still wasn’t natural for Holden. There had been a time when it hadn’t come so easily for Miller either.

  Only Fred didn’t flinch or look nervous. The colonel didn’t smile or frown, and he didn’t look away.

  “What the fuck was that?” Holden said through his blood-plugged nose. “You shot him in cold blood!”

  “Yeah,” Miller said.

  Holden shook his head. “What about a trial? What about justice? You just decide, and that’s the way it goes?”

  “I’m a cop,” Miller said, surprised by the apology in his voice.

  “Are you even human anymore?”

  “All right, gentlemen!” Fred said, his voice booming out in the quiet. “Show’s over. Let’s get back to work. I want the decryption team in here. We’ve got prisoners to evacuate and a station to strip down.”

  Holden looked from Fred to Miller to the still-dying Dresden. His jaw was set with rage.

  “Hey, Miller,” Holden said.

  “Yeah?” Miller said softly. He knew what was coming.

  “Find your own ride home,” the captain of the Rocinante said, then spun and stalked out of the room, his crew following. Miller watched them walk away. Regret tapped gently at his heart, but there was nothing to be done about it. The broken bulkhead seemed to swallow them. Miller turned to Fred.

  “Hitch a lift?”

  “You’re wearing our colors,” Fred said. “We’ll get you as far as Tycho.”

  “I appreciate that,” Miller said. Then, a moment later: “You know it had to be done.”

  Fred didn’t reply. There wasn’t anything to say.

  Thoth Station
was injured, but not dead. Not yet. Word of the sociopathic crew spread fast, and the OPA forces took the warning to heart. The occupation and control phase of the attack lasted forty hours instead of the twenty that it would have taken with normal prisoners. With humans. Miller did what he could with prisoner control.

  The OPA kids were well intentioned, but most of them had never worked with captive populations before. They didn’t know how to cuff someone at the wrist and elbow so that the perp couldn’t get his hands out in front to strangle them. They didn’t know how to restrain someone with a length of cord around the neck so that the prisoner couldn’t choke himself to death, by accident or intentionally. Half of them didn’t even know how to pat someone down. Miller knew all of it like a game he’d played since childhood. In five hours, he found twenty hidden blades on the science crew alone. He hardly had to think about it.

  A second wave of transport ships arrived: personnel haulers that looked ready to spill their air out into the vacuum if you spat on them, salvage trawlers already dismantling the shielding and superstructure of the station, supply ships boxing and packing the precious equipment and looting the pharmacies and food banks. By the time news of the assault reached Earth, the station would be stripped to a skeleton and its people hidden away in unlicensed prison cells throughout the Belt.

  Protogen would know sooner, of course. They had outposts much closer than the inner planets. There was a calculus of response time and possible gain. The mathematics of piracy and war. Miller knew it, but he didn’t let it worry him. Those were decisions for Fred and his attaches to make. Miller had taken more than enough initiative for one day.

  Posthuman.

  It was a word that came up in the media every five or six years, and it meant different things every time. Neural regrowth hormone? Posthuman. Sex robots with inbuilt pseudo intelligence? Posthuman. Self-optimizing network routing? Posthuman. It was a word from advertising copy, breathless and empty, and all he’d ever thought it really meant was that the people using it had a limited imagination about what exactly humans were capable of.