“Yes.” And because Nat had come to it herself, she’d sell it to the rest of the crew. As often as possible, Cho believed in giving orders he knew would be obeyed. Greased the way for those times the orders were less palatable.
“How?”
It all came back to the weapons. “We get the weapons off the station, out of the territory Big Bill controls—it’s hard to take a stand when the person you’re standing against can turn off the air—and we renegotiate based on how important we know the weapons are to Big Bill’s long-term plans.”
“Yeah, but if we set the prices, Big Bill can just suggest no one buys.”
“He won’t. The weapons change everything.”
“Okay.” She nodded slowly, forehead folding into well-defined lines. “I can see that. But we can’t get the armory off the station with the gravity on. Big Bill controls the gravity.”
“The armory doesn’t matter.”
Nat rolled her eyes and slapped both palms down on the table. “Damn it, Cap, I thought the armory was the whole fukking point!”
“The contents of the armory are the whole fukking point. When Nadayki gets the seal open and we have three hours Big Bill doesn’t own to unload everything onto the Heart.”
“So Big Bill’s station, not the Heart, took the risk of Nadayki blowing the armory,” Nat said slowly, “and we end up free and clear with a load of weapons.”
It sounded good. Simple. Foolproof. Profitable. “And we renegotiate a better price. Our price, not Big Bill’s.”
Nat made him feel good about command. Always had. She was never obsequious the way Huirre could be and she always, eventually, understood what he was doing and why. For the first time since that gunnery sergeant had clued him in to Big Bill’s betrayal, Cho felt back in control.
The weapons were his, not Big Bill’s.
He might sell them to Big Bill’s people, he might not. His final decision would be based entirely on whether or not they could pay the price. That was what kept the system they had out here working.
Cho didn’t begrudge Big Bill his fifteen percent—not of the weapons, not of the price he got for them—the canny bastard kept the station running, a safe haven in a universe that tried to choke a man with rules, but Big Bill had to learn he didn’t control the other eighty-five per . . .
“Ryder.” He managed to stop before slamming the salvage operator to the deck. His eyes were red, face was still bruised, his hair was wet . . . the man looked like shit. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Looking for you.” He swayed in place and laid a palm against the bulkhead. “You think Big Bill’s trying to screw you, right?”
“Go on.” No point in denying it Cho realized, Ryder had been right there in the pod when Big Bill had tipped his hand.
“Okay, suppose Big Bill thinks that the hard part’s done. The CSO seal is the hinky one; the Marine seal is straightforward in comparison. He convinced a government that this station didn’t exist; surely he can get through a Marine seal. Why should he settle for fifteen percent when he can have the whole enchilada?”
“What the hell is an enchilada?”
“When he can have the whole thing,” Ryder amended.
Cho’s eyes widened. His own words, thrown back at him.
“All he has to do is open the exterior hatch,” Ryder continued. “Any crew by the pod has sweet fuk all in the way of time to get to the air lock and into the ship. They’re sucked into vacuum. Nadayki’s brain is explosively decompressed pudding. Result—Big Bill’s the only one with the mad skills to get the seal open. And you know what they say: possession is nine tenths, not fifteen percent.”
“Fuk him!” Cho snarled. He could see Big Bill spreading his hands and smiling and saying exactly that.
“You can’t stop him,” Ryder pointed out, and kept going before Cho took off his whole fukking foot for being obvious. “But you can screw him in return. There’s a suit hookup right by the storage pod. You put suits in it and they’re just hanging there, charging behind closed doors, not giving anything away if Big Bill comes down. But, if the exterior hatch opens . . .”