CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR


I never asked Freeman about Liotta’s death. He’d become something of a shadow of his former self, spending most of his time alone. We were back on the Bolivar, Holman’s ship. Freeman, who had never been much of a talker, spent most of his time on the observation deck, sitting alone.

Something about him had changed; I could see it in his eyes. Freeman’s gaze had always had this menacing intensity. Looking into those eyes used to remind me of staring down the muzzle of a double-barreled shotgun. He didn’t just look at the world around him; he seemed to X-ray it, peel it apart with his stare, and coerce it into revealing secrets.

As I thought about it, I’d seldom seen Ray Freeman verbally threatening victims. He didn’t need to make threats; his eyes did it for him. Not anymore. Only a week had passed since we left Solomon; but in that time, much of the menace had evaporated from his gaze.

Now he looked tired, worn down by the universe and ready to call it quits. Freeman was a giant, a killer for hire, and an outcast; but what I saw when I stepped onto the observation deck was a man who needed a rest. Once, Freeman fell asleep where he sat. He looked like a man who might not ever wake up.

On this day, he had the deck to himself and did not turn to look at me as I entered. He sat staring out into space or possibly at his own reflection in the glass. I couldn’t tell.

“Is Wallace any better than Liotta?” Freeman asked, still not looking in my direction.

“He’s decided to resign his commission,” I said.

“Smart choice. From what I heard, he was even more of an asshole than Liotta. You would have sent me to retire him by the end of the week,” Freeman said.

Freeman did not use profanity very often. He seldom did anything that exposed his emotions.

“I’m going to ask Jim Holman to take over,” I said.

Freeman did not exactly smile, but the muscles around his mouth relaxed slightly. He said, “Holman? Good man.”

“Ray, what’s bothering you?” I asked.

He did not answer.

I knew the answer. Since learning that his sister and nephew had died on New Copenhagen, Freeman thought about nothing but saving lives. He’d become obsessed with rescuing the masses, not caring what sins he might commit along the way. He’d developed a messiah complex and would have happily laid down his life saving the people on Solomon; instead, he’d had to turn his back on them, and he couldn’t live with it.

“I have some recon I need to run,” I said.

No response. Did he blame me for Solomon …for what would happen on Solomon? The attack had not happened yet and probably would not happen for another few hours.

No, he didn’t blame me. If he’d thought it was my fault, he probably would have killed me along with Liotta. Freeman did not hesitate when it came to killing. At least the old Ray Freeman didn’t.

This Freeman-shaped cadaver took in my words and said nothing. His silences used to scare me; now they had a moping quality about them.

“Look, the Unifieds are watching everything we do. They want their barges back and they’re going to keep harassing our ships until we run out of Navy.”

Freeman just sat there, staring at me, his face devoid of emotion. Did he agree or disagree? Did he care?

“We can’t keep sending people to Providence Kri. I want to start relocating refugees to Terraneau, but I can’t do that until I know it has a breathable atmosphere.”

“You want me to take you to Terraneau?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“No?” he asked.

“No. I want to send Sweetwater and Breeze to Terraneau.”

Anyone else might have pointed out that they only existed in a Unified Authority computer, a sharper wit might have offered to upload a map of the planet for them; but Freeman shrugged his shoulders, and asked, “How do you plan to get them there?”

“We’ll work out the details later,” I said. “Just get them on the two-way.”

He nodded.

“Within the hour,” I added. I was pushing him, testing him, seeing if he would put me in my place.

The old Freeman did not take orders from me or anybody. Tell him what to do, and he decided for himself if he wanted to do it. This new Freeman reminded me of a whale: huge, powerful, and docile. He spent a second considering what I said and agreed.

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