Avasarala’s expression was careful, composed. Even through the screen and a couple hundred thousand kilometers, she radiated certainty and calm. Naomi knew it might all be an act, but if it was, it was a good act. The reporter was a young man with close-cut dark hair who leaned forward and tried to look up to the task of interviewing her. “The other casualties of the war have —”

“No,” Avasarala said. “Not war. Not casualties. These aren’t casualties. They’re murders. This isn’t a war. Marco Inaros can claim to be an admiral in command of a great navy if he wants. I can claim to be the f—Buddha. That doesn’t make it true. He’s a criminal with a lot of stolen ships and more innocent blood on his hands than anyone in history. He’s a monstrous little boy.”

Naomi took another bite of bread pudding. Whatever they used to make the raisins wasn’t convincing, but it didn’t taste bad. For a moment, her thoughts weren’t on welding tape and inventory cheats.

“So you don’t consider this an act of war?”

“War by who? War is a conflict between governments, yes? What sort of government does he represent? When was he elected? Who appointed him? Now, after the fact, he’s scrambling to say he represents Belters. So what? Any petty thug in his position would want to call it war because it makes him sound serious.”

The reporter looked like he’d swallowed something sour and unexpected. “I’m sorry. Are you saying this attack isn’t serious?”

“This attack is the greatest tragedy in human history,” Avasarala said, her voice deep and throbbing. She dominated the screen. “But it was carried out by shortsighted, narcissistic criminals. They want a war? Too bad. They get an arrest, processing, and a fair trial with whatever lawyer they can afford. They want the Belt to rise up so they can hide behind the good, decent people who live there? Belters aren’t thugs, and they aren’t murderers. They are men and women who love their children the same as any of us. They are good and evil and wise and foolish and human. And this ‘Free Navy’ will never be able to kill enough people to make Earth forget that shared humanity. Let the Belt consult its own conscience, and you’ll see compassion and decency and kindness flourish in any gravity or none. Earth has been bloodied, but we will not be debased. Not on my fucking watch.”

The old woman sat back in her seat, her eyes fiery and defiant. The reporter glanced into the camera and then back to his notes. “The relief effort on Earth is, of course, a massive undertaking.”

“It is,” she said. “We have reactors in every major city on the planet running at top efficiency to provide power for —”