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“Come on,” Hasini said, looping an arm around him. “It’s not that far. I’ll get you home.”
“What time is it?” Miller asked.
“Late.”
The word had a depth to it. Late. It was late. All the chances to make things right had somehow passed him. The system was at war, and no one was even sure why. Miller himself was turning fifty years old the next June. It was late. Late to start again. Late to realize how many years he’d spent running down the wrong road. Hasini steered him toward an electric cart the bar kept for occasions like this one. The smell of hot grease came out of the kitchen.
“Hold on,” Miller said.
“You going to puke?” Hasini asked.
Miller considered for a moment. No, it was too late to puke. He stumbled forward. Hasini laid him back in the cart and engaged the motors, and with a whine they steered out into the corridor. The lights high above them were dimmed. The cart vibrated as they passed intersection after intersection. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe that was just his body.
“I thought I was good,” he said. “You know, all this time, I thought I was at least good.”
“You do fine,” Hasini said. “You’ve just got a shitty job.”
“That I was good at.”
“You do fine,” Hasini repeated, as if saying it would make it true.
Miller lay on the bed of the cart. The formed plastic arch of the wheel well dug into his side. It ached, but moving was too much effort. Thinking was too much effort. He’d made it through his day, Muss at his side. He’d turned in the data and materials on Julie. He had nothing worth going back to his hole for, and no place else to be.
The lights shifted into and out of his field of view. He wondered if that was what it would be like to look at stars. He’d never looked up at a sky. The thought inspired a certain vertigo. A sense of terror of the infinite that was almost pleasant.
“There anyone who can take care of you?” Hasini said when they reached Miller’s hole.
“I’ll be fine. I just… I had a bad day.”
“Julie,” Hasini said, nodding.
“How do you know about Julie?” Miller asked.
“You’ve been talking about her all night,” Hasini said. “She’s a girl you fell for, right?”
Frowning, Miller kept a hand on the cart. Julie. He’d been talking about Julie. That was what this was about. Not his job. Not his reputation. They’d taken away Julie. The special case. The one that mattered.
“You’re in love with her,” Hasini said.
“Yeah, sort of,” Miller said, something like revelation forcing its way through the alcohol. “I think I am.”
“Too bad for you,” Hasini said.
Chapter Seventeen: Holden
The Tachi’s galley had a full kitchen and a table with room for twelve. It also had a full-size coffeepot that could brew forty cups of coffee in less than five minutes whether the ship was in zero g or under a five-g burn. Holden said a silent prayer of thanks for bloated military budgets and pressed the brew button. He had to restrain himself from stroking the stainless steel cover while it made gentle percolating noises.
The aroma of coffee began to fill the air, competing with the baking-bread smell of whatever Alex had put in the oven. Amos was thumping around the table in his new cast, laying out plastic plates and actual honest-to-god metal silverware. In a bowl Naomi was mixing something that had the garlic scent of good hummus. Watching the crew work at these domestic tasks, Holden had a sense of peace and safety deep enough to leave him light-headed.
They’d been on the run for weeks now, pursued the entire time by one mysterious ship or another. For the first time since the Canterbury was destroyed, no one knew where they were. No one was demanding anything of them. As far as the solar system was concerned, they were a few casualties out of thousands on the Donnager. A brief vision of Shed’s head disappearing like a grisly magic trick reminded him that at least one of his crew was a casualty. And still, it felt so good to once again be master of his own destiny that even regret couldn’t entirely rob him of it.
A timer rang, and Alex pulled out a tray covered with thin, flat bread. He began cutting it into slices, onto which Naomi slathered a paste that did in fact look like hummus. Amos put them on the plates around the table. Holden drew fresh coffee into mugs that had the ship’s name on the side. He passed them around. There was an awkward moment when everyone stared at the neatly set table without moving, as if afraid to destroy the perfection of the scene.
Amos solved this by saying, “I’m hungry as a f**king bear,” and then sitting down with a thump. “Somebody pass me that pepper, wouldja?”
For several minutes, no one spoke; they only ate. Holden took a small bite of the flat bread and hummus, the strong flavors making him dizzy after weeks of tasteless protein bars. Then he was stuffing it into his mouth so fast it made his salivary glands flare with exquisite agony. He looked around the table, embarrassed, but everyone else was eating just as fast, so he gave up on propriety and concentrated on food. When he’d finished off the last scraps from his plate, he leaned back with a sigh, hoping to make the contentment last as long as possible. Alex sipped coffee with his eyes closed. Amos ate the last bits of the hummus right out of the serving bowl with his spoon. Naomi gave Holden a sleepy look through half-lidded eyes that was suddenly sexy as hell. Holden quashed that thought and raised his mug.
“To Kelly’s marines. Heroes to the last, may they rest in peace,” he said.
“To the marines,” everyone at the table echoed, then clinked mugs and drank.
Alex raised his mug and said, “To Shed.”
“Yeah, to Shed, and to the ass**les who killed him roasting in hell,” Amos said in a quiet voice. “Right beside the f**ker who killed the Cant.”
The mood at the table got somber. Holden felt the peaceful moment slipping away as quietly as it had come.
“So,” he said. “Tell me about our new ship. Alex?”
“She’s a beaut, Cap. I ran her at twelve g for most of half an hour when we left the Donnie, and she purred like a kitten the whole time. The pilot’s chair is comfy too.”
Holden nodded.
“Amos? Get a chance to look at her engine room yet?” he asked.
“Yep. Clean as a whistle. This is going to be a boring gig for a grease monkey like me,” the mechanic replied.
“Boring would be nice,” Holden said. “Naomi? What do you think?”
