Chapter 12: THE CALL
Two weeks on the Canterbury taught me things no amount of preparation could have.
The rhythm of ice hauling. The way a crew functioned when they'd worked together long enough to anticipate each other's movements. The particular satisfaction of fixing something that had been broken for months, of earning your place through competence rather than words.
I deliberately underperformed. Kept my work good but not exceptional, my speed adequate but not remarkable. The cargo bay incident on Tycho still haunted my cover story—I couldn't afford another display of abilities that didn't fit my supposed background.
But the cover held. Holden approved of my work ethic. Alex kept inviting me to meals. Even Shed relaxed around me, chattering about medical supplies and the challenges of keeping a crew healthy in deep space.
Naomi remained watchful.
She never said anything directly, never accused me of hiding things. But I'd catch her observing me during maintenance rotations, her dark eyes tracking my movements with the particular attention of someone cataloguing data for later analysis.
She knew something was off. Didn't know what, couldn't prove anything, but the instinct was there.
I respected it. Would have been worried if the Canterbury's chief engineer couldn't spot a man who didn't quite fit his story.
Amos and I reached an understanding without words. We worked together on a coolant leak during my second week—twelve hours in a cramped maintenance tunnel, emergency patching to keep the system from failing entirely. He handed me tools before I asked for them. I anticipated his movements without needing to be told.
When we finished, he nodded once. "You're okay."
Coming from Amos Burton, that was practically a declaration of brotherhood.
The distress call came on a Tuesday.
I was in the machine shop, replacing a coupling that had been degrading for months, when the ship-wide comm crackled to life.
"All hands, this is Captain McDowell. We've received a distress signal from a ship designated Scopuli. All senior crew to the bridge. Repeat, all senior crew to the bridge."
The coupling forgotten, I made my way toward the bridge. Not because I was senior crew—I wasn't—but because I needed to see this happen. Needed to witness the moment that everything changed.
The bridge was crowded when I arrived. Holden stood near the captain's chair, arguing in the particular way of a man who believed deeply in what he was saying. McDowell sat with the exhausted patience of someone who'd had this argument before.
"It's a distress signal, Captain. We're legally obligated to respond."
"We're legally obligated to log it and report it to the nearest naval vessel." McDowell rubbed his eyes. "Which is what I intend to do. The signal's faint, the source is off our course, and we're on a schedule."
"People could be dying out there."
"People are always dying somewhere, Mr. Holden. That doesn't make it our responsibility."
Naomi stepped forward. "The signal's been broadcasting for at least eighteen hours based on the timestamp. If anyone was alive when it started, they might not be anymore."
"All the more reason not to waste our time."
I watched from the doorway, invisible in the crowd of crew members who'd gathered to observe. The debate I'd known was coming, playing out exactly as the show had depicted it. Holden's idealism clashing with McDowell's pragmatism. The captain trying to keep his ship on schedule, the XO unable to ignore a call for help.
Amos appeared beside me. "What do you think?"
"I think we should check it out."
He glanced at me, something sharp in his expression. "Why?"
"Because Holden's right. Distress signals mean someone needs help. We're close enough to respond." I kept my voice neutral, just another crew member with an opinion. "Besides, the alternative is ignoring it and wondering for the rest of the trip whether we let people die."
Amos considered this. Then he pushed into the bridge conversation.
"I'll go."
McDowell looked up. "Mr. Burton?"
"If we're sending a shuttle to check out the signal, I'll go. Naomi too, probably—someone needs to assess the ship. Holden can lead since he cares so much. Grab whoever else volunteers."
The captain's resistance crumbled. I could see it in his face—the calculation that sending a shuttle team was easier than continuing the argument. Easier than dealing with Holden's disappointment for the rest of the haul.
"Fine. Take the Knight. Skeleton crew, minimum resources. If there's anyone alive, bring them back. If not, log the wreck and return." He turned back to his console. "Everyone else, back to stations. We continue on course until the shuttle returns."
The bridge cleared. I lingered near the doorway, waiting.
Holden caught my eye. "Kwame. You're good with emergency repairs, right?"
"Yes."
"Want to volunteer for the shuttle mission? We might need someone who can patch systems on the fly."
This was the moment. The choice that would determine everything.
I could stay on the Canterbury. Ride out whatever happened from a distance, hope the stealth ships didn't destroy the shuttle along with the main ship. Safer, maybe. Less involved in the events that were about to reshape the solar system.
Or I could go. Position myself with the crew that would survive. Be there when Holden made his broadcast, when the Rocinante became their home, when the protomolecule emerged from the depths of Eros.
"I'll go," I said.
Naomi watched me from across the bridge. Her frown deepened.
I pretended not to notice.
The Knight's shuttle bay was organized chaos.
Amos ran through pre-flight checks while Alex powered up the engines. Naomi verified emergency supplies—oxygen, water, basic medical equipment. Shed loaded additional medical gear, his nervousness evident in the way his hands shook slightly.
Holden coordinated everything with the particular energy of a man finally doing something he believed in.
I stowed my emergency repair kit and strapped into a jump seat, watching the Canterbury's cargo bay recede through the shuttle's viewport.
"Everyone secure?" Holden called from the front.
Acknowledgments from around the shuttle. Six of us total—Holden, Naomi, Amos, Alex, Shed, and me. The complete roster of people who would survive what was coming.
Everyone else aboard the Canterbury had hours to live.
I'd known this. Had accepted it months ago, when I'd first learned about the shipping routes and positioned myself to be exactly here, exactly now. The mathematics of survival didn't allow for sentiment.
But watching the ship shrink in the viewport, knowing what was coming, knowing I couldn't do anything to stop it—
The shuttle launched. Acceleration pressed me into my seat as Alex guided us away from the Canterbury, toward the coordinates of the Scopuli's distress signal.
"Transit time is about five hours," Alex announced. "Might want to get comfortable."
Five hours. Five hours until we reached the Scopuli and found what remained of Julie Mao's ill-fated mission. Five hours until the stealth ships revealed themselves and the Canterbury became debris.
I settled back in my seat and watched the stars drift past.
Naomi moved through the shuttle, checking equipment, verifying supplies. She paused near my station, her expression unreadable.
"You volunteered quickly."
"Someone had to."
"Most people hesitate. Weigh the risks. You didn't even blink."
I met her eyes, letting her see nothing but the calm exterior I'd cultivated. "Sometimes you just know what you're supposed to do. This felt right."
She didn't respond. Just moved on to the next station, but I could feel her attention lingering.
Naomi Nagata suspected something. Would continue suspecting, probably for a long time. The question was whether her suspicions would become accusations, and whether I could maintain my cover long enough to matter.
The shuttle pushed deeper into the black.
Behind us, growing smaller with every passing minute, the Canterbury continued its final journey. Captain McDowell was probably back at his station, annoyed about the shuttle mission but otherwise unremarkable. The crew was going about their routines—eating, sleeping, maintaining systems that would be vaporized in hours.
I couldn't warn them. Couldn't change what was about to happen. Could only survive and help the people beside me survive.
Amos glanced back from his station. Our eyes met briefly—two men who recognized each other's capacity for violence, who understood that sometimes survival meant accepting losses you couldn't prevent.
He nodded once, then returned to his work.
I looked out the viewport at the stars, at the void that had swallowed so many before and would swallow so many more.
The Canterbury was a silhouette against the darkness now. Old ship. Tired crew. Hours from becoming history.
I watched until I couldn't see her anymore.
Then I turned forward, toward the distress signal, toward the Scopuli and everything that waited beyond it.
The future was coming, whether I was ready or not.
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