“Oh my God,” Monica breathed.

“Yeah, it kind of sucks.”

“Whatc what are you going to do about it?”

A beam of light shone through the hatch in the floor. Tiny bits of dust and particulate metal glimmered in it like it was swirling in water. He watched it with a half smile on his face. It meant the bad guys were almost there, but it was pretty to look at. He remembered that Monica was on the line. She’d asked him something.

“Yeah,” Bull said. “So that thing where we power down the ship and save everyone? We’re probably not going to do that.”

“You can’t give up,” she said. “Please. There has to be a way.”

Doesn’t have to be, he thought, but didn’t say. Anna thought there was a way. Where did that get her? But if there is, I hope one of you folks finds it.

“How bad is it in there?” he asked.

“It’sc it’s terrible. It’s like the catastrophe happened all over again.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Bull said.

“We can’t go on,” Monica said. “Oh God, what are we going to do?”

The light got stronger. Brighter. He couldn’t see the dust motes anymore from the shine of the light.

“Monica?” Bull said. “Look, I’m sorry, but I kind of got to go now, okay? You folks just do your best. Hold it together in there, all right? And hey, if it all works out?”

“Yes?”

“Tell Fred Johnson he fucking owes me one.”

He dropped the connection, unplugged his hand terminal. He took a grenade in each hand, his thumbs on the release bars. A head poked up through the hatch, then back down fast. When no one shot at it, the head came back more slowly. Bull smiled and nodded at it, welcoming. The opaque cowling went clear, and he saw Casimir staring at him. Bull grinned. Well, that was a pleasure, at least. A little treat on the way out.

“Hey,” Bull said, even though the man couldn’t hear him. “Hold this for me.”

He tossed the two grenades, and watched the man’s expression as he understood what they were.

Chapter Forty-Nine: Anna

Anna returned to consciousness floating in a tangled knot with Okju the camera operator, two office chairs, and a potted ficus plant. Someone was setting off firecrackers in long strings. Someone else was shouting. Anna’s vision was blurry, and she blinked and shook her head to clear it. Which turned out to be a mistake, as shaking her head sent a spike of pain up her spine that nearly knocked her unconscious again.

“What?” she tried to say, but it came out as a slushy “bluh” sound.

“Christ, Red, I thought you were cooked there,” a familiar voice replied. Rough but friendly. Amos. “I hated to think I broke my promise.”

Anna opened her eyes again, careful not to move her head. She was floating in the center of what had been the studio space. Okju floated next to her, her foot tucked into Anna’s armpit. Anna extricated her legs from the two office chairs they were twisted up in, and pushed the ficus away from her face.

More firecrackers went off in long, staccato bursts. It took Anna’s muddled brain a few seconds to realize the sound was gunfire. Across the room, Amos was leaning against the wall next to the front door, taking a magazine out of his gun and replacing it with the smooth motion of long practice. On the other side of the door one of the UN soldiers they’d picked up was firing at someone outside. Answering gunfire blew chunks of molded fiberglass out of the back wall just a few meters from where Anna floated.

“If you aren’t dead,” Amos said, then paused to lean around the corner and fire off a short burst. “Then you’ll probably want to get out of the middle of the room.”

“Okju,” Anna said, tugging on the woman’s arm. “Wake up. We need to move.”

Okju’s arm flopped bonelessly when she pulled it, and the woman started slowly rotating in the air. Anna saw that her head was tilted at an acute angle to her shoulders, and her face was slack and her eyes stared at nothing. Anna recoiled involuntarily, the lizard living at the base of her spine telling her to get away from the dead person as quickly as possible. She yelped and pushed against Okju’s body with her feet, sending it and herself floating away in opposite directions. When she hit the wall she grabbed on to an LED sconce and held on with all her strength. The pain in her neck and head was a constant percussive throb.

The sounds of gunfire didn’t stop. Amos and his small, mixed band of defenders were firing out through every opening in the office space, several of which had been cut as gun ports.

They were under attack. Ashford had sent his people to stop them. Anna’s memories of the last few moments came back in a rush. The terrible screeching sound, being hurled sideways at the wall.

Ashford must have shut down the drum to stop them so that his gunmen could finish them off. But if Okju had been killed as a result of the sudden stoppage, then that same effect would have been repeated dozens, maybe hundreds of times throughout the makeshift community on the Behemoth. Ashford was willing to kill them all to get his own way. Anna felt a growing rage, and was glad that no one had thought to give her a gun.

“Are we still broadcasting?” she yelled at Amos over the gunfire.

“Dunno, Red. Monica’s in the radio room.”

Anna pulled herself across the wall to the closet where they’d placed their broadcasting gear. The door was ajar, and she could see Monica floating inside, checking the equipment. The space wasn’t large enough for both of them, so Anna just pushed the door open a little farther and said, “Are we still broadcasting? Can we get back on the air?”

Monica gave a humorless laugh but didn’t turn around. “I thought you were dead.”

“No, but Okju is. I think she broke her neck. I’ll take the camera if you need me to. Where’s Clip?”

“Clip was helping Amos, and he was shot in the hip. He’s bleeding out in a side office. Tilly is helping him.”

Anna pushed her way into the small room and put a hand on Monica’s shoulder. “We have to get back on the air. We have to keep up the broadcast or this is all for nothing. Tell me what to do.”

Monica laughed again, then turned around and swatted Anna’s hand off of her arm. “What do you think is happening here? Ashford has men outside trying to break in and kill us. Bull and his people have lost the engine room, and Juarez says Bull’s been killed. Who knows how many people he—”

Anna planted her feet against the doorjamb, grabbed Monica by the shoulders, and slammed the reporter up against the wall. “Does the broadcasting equipment still work?” She was amazed at how steady her voice sounded.

“It got banged around some, but—”

“Does. It. Work.”

“Yes,” Monica said. It came out as a frightened squeak.

“Get me on the channel the assault team was using, and give me a headset,” Anna said, then let go of Monica’s shoulders. Monica did as she asked, moving quickly and only occasionally giving her a frightened look. I’ve become frightening, Anna thought. Tasting the idea, and finding it less unpleasant than she’d expect. These were frightening times.

“Fuck!” Amos yelled from the other room. When Anna looked out, she saw one of the young Martian officers floating in the middle of the room spraying small globes of red blood into the air around him. Her friend Chris launched across the room by pushing off with his one good leg and grabbed the injured man with his one arm, then pulled him into cover.

“We’re running out of time,” Anna said to Monica. “Work faster.”

Monica’s reply was to hand her a headset with a microphone.

“Hello? This is Anna Volovodov at Radio Free Slow Zone. Is anyone left on this channel?”

Someone replied, but they were impossible to hear over the nearby gunfire. Anna turned the volume up to the maximum and said, “Repeat that, please.”