Loading mechs moved pallets of gray or white plastic crates along the length of the Aldrin docks and drowned out the jabber of human voices with the clanks and whirring of machines. Stokes and the other refugees from Rattlesnake Island were in a huddle along one gray wall, trying to only block the cart traffic a little bit while a civil servant with an oversized terminal processed them one at a time. The security force in black armor stood arrayed before the lock to the Zhang Guo, scowling. The wall screen was set to look outside at that truck-tire gray moonscape.

Chrisjen Avasarala’s red sari stood out, a vibrant spot of color, and her voice cut through the clamor like it wasn’t there.

“What the fuck do you mean we can’t go on the ship?” she said.

“No warrant,” Amos said. “Nobody’s getting on my boat here without a warrant.”

Avasarala tilted her head, then looked at the woman in charge of the security squad.

“Seeing that you and he seemed to have an understanding, ma’am,” the security chief said, “I didn’t want to press the point.”

Avasarala waved her hand impatiently like she was fanning away smoke. “Burton, for one thing, that’s not your fucking ship.”

“Sure it is,” Amos said. “Salvage.”

“No. When you break into someone’s private hangar and drive out in their ship, it’s not salvage. That’s still theft.”

“You sure about that? Because it was looking awfully busted up down there. I’m pretty sure that was salvage.”

“For another thing, we’re under martial law, so I can do very nearly whatever the fuck I want. Including march through your precious little ship there towing you along behind in a ball gag and lacy underwear. So your warrant bullshit? You can roll that up and fuck it. Now tell me why I’m here.”

“You know just ’cause you can do something, it doesn’t mean you should. I don’t look great in frills.”

She crossed her arms. “Why am I here, Amos?”

Amos scratched his cheek and looked back at the Zhang Guo. Stokes and the servants were all out, but Erich and Peaches and the crew from Baltimore were all still inside. Some of them, including Erich, were either living under fake identities or weren’t in the system at all.

“Here’s the thing,” Amos said. “If you did go in there, you might feel like you had to do something. And then I might feel like I had to do something. And then we’d all be doing things, and we’d all wind up having a worse day, just in general.”