The captain nodded sharply, and Lieutenant de Haan launched for the lift, Bobbie close behind him. Alex’s heart was beating double-time, but the fear was tempered by a growing excitement. Yes, he was in danger of losing his life. Yes, an unknown enemy had them surrounded and were likely about to storm the ship itself. But he was going to get to fly in battle again, and some immature, juvenile part of his soul could hardly wait.

“We will use our PDCs to cover you as long as we can,” the captain said, and Alex interrupted her again.

“Not going to be enough. If we’re burnin’ all the way to Earth… we can probably outrun the enemy ships, but their missiles don’t have to worry about keeping anyone inside from getting squished by thrust. And it ain’t like there’s anything out here to hide behind.”

“You’ll have to think of something,” the captain said.

“All right,” Alex said. “Set a bunch of missiles to match the frequency of the Razorback’s comm laser. Launch as many as you can with us when we go, and Bobbie can use our laser to target incoming fire. We’ll outrun their ships and shoot down their missiles. Unless there’s someone between here and Luna or we run out of missiles, we should be fine.”

As long as we don’t get shot the second we launch, he didn’t add.

The captain blinked and shot a glance at the prime minister. There was a question in the politician’s eyes. Captain Choudhary shrugged. “He thought of something.”

“You mean —”

“No,” the captain said, “that might… that might work.”

“Captain!” A voice came from behind them. “We have confirmed enemy contact at decks seven and thirteen. Permission to use heavy weapons?”

“Permission granted,” the captain said, then turned to Alex. “I think that’s your cue to head out, Mister Kamal.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Alex said. “I’ll make this work if I can.”

The prime minister unstrapped and floated up out of his couch until one of the two remaining marines grabbed him and pulled him back into orientation. The prime minister and the captain shook hands as another voice interrupted.

“Captain, we’re getting a message from the attacking force. From the Pella.”

“Their command ship,” the prime minister said to Alex.

“More demands of surrender?” the captain asked.

“No, sir. It’s broadcast, not tightbeam. It’s… well, holy shit.”

“Give it to me, Mister Chou,” the captain said. “From the start.”

An audio feed clicked on. Thick static crackled, vanished, then crackled again. Someone grunted, and it sounded like pain. When the voice finally came, it was focused and serious. And it hit Alex like a kick to the belly.

“If you receive this, please retransmit. This is Naomi Nagata of the Rocinante…”

Chapter Thirty-two: Naomi