A
rnold Mfume, who wasn’t Alex, came out of the crew quarters still drying his hair. When he saw Holden and Foster – the two captains – by the coffee machine, he grimaced.
“Running a little late there, Mister Mfume,” Foster Sales said.
“Yes, sir. Chava just pointed that out to me. I’m on my way.”
“Coffee?” Holden said, holding out a freshly brewed bulb. “Little milk, no sugar. Might not be how you take it, but it’s ready now.”
“I won’t say no,” Mfume said with a fast, nervous smile. Holden couldn’t place his accent. Flat vowel sounds and swallowed consonants. Wherever it came from, it sounded good on him.
As Holden handed over the bulb, Foster cleared his throat. “You know it’s a bad habit to be late for your shift.”
“I know, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
And then, Mfume was gone, bolting up the ladder toward the cockpit faster than the lift would have taken him. Foster sighed and shook his head. “It’s good being young,” he said, “but some people wear it better than others.”
Holden tapped in an order for another coffee. “I wouldn’t want people to judge me by what I did in my twenties. What about you? Can I get you one?”
“More of a tea man, myself,” the other captain said. “If that’s an option.”
“Don’t know that I’ve ever tried.”
“No?”
“There was always coffee.”
The morning meeting had started off as just part of the shakedown. Between the new crew and the uncertainty surrounding the ship, it had seemed like a good idea for Holden and Foster Sales to touch base with each other, compare notes, make sure that everything was the way it was supposed to be. The care Foster took to treat the Roci with respect had helped Holden. The new crew wasn’t his, and he didn’t feel comfortable with them, but they weren’t going through the real crew’s lockers while no one was looking. And day by day, their presence was growing more familiar. Less strange.
When he called down to engineering and Kazantzakis or Ip replied, it didn’t seem as wrong anymore. Finding Sun-yi and Gor wired into gaming goggles shooting the crap out of each other in simulated battles – because as weapons techs with no one to shoot at they were getting antsy – stopped being weird and edged into sort of endearing. Maura Patel was spending her insomniac, sleepless shifts upgrading the tightbeam system. Holden knew it was something Naomi had on her list of projects, but he let Maura do it anyway. And after the long, quiet days in the dock, sleeping in his couch and waking to an empty ship, part of him even appreciated the company. They might be the wrong people, but they were people. Having guests in his house kept him from descending into his fear and anxiety. He was only putting on a brave face, but it actually made him feel a little braver.
“Anything else I should be aware of?” Foster asked.
“Just I want to know if anything happens with the Razorback or the Pella,” Holden said. “Or if we get a message from Earth. Amos Burton or my family, either one.” As if they were different.
“I think you’ve made that clear to the crew,” Foster said solemnly, but with a glimmer of amusement in his eye. Probably Holden had made the point a few times. To everyone. The coffee machine chimed and gave Holden a fresh bulb. Foster made his way to the ladder, and then down toward the torpedo bays where Kazantzakis was cleaning things that were already clean. Holden waited a few seconds and then headed up to the ops deck. Chava, coming down, met him, and they did a little awkward no-you-first dance before they got past each other.
Fred was in the crash couch that he’d appropriated as his office. The hatch to the cockpit was closed, but Holden could still hear the wailing of the ra? that Mfume liked to listen to during his shift in the pilot’s seat. Between that and the coffee, he wouldn’t be sleeping, but Fred had put headphones on and so didn’t hear Holden coming. The image on his screen was familiar. Marco Inaros, the self-styled head of the Free Navy and public face of the devastation of Earth. And – Holden tried the thought carefully in case it hurt too much to think it – if Naomi was dead, the man who’d probably killed her. His chest contracted painfully and he pushed the idea away. Thinking about Amos and Naomi was too dangerous.
Fred turned sharply, noticing him, and pulled off the headphones. “Holden. How long have you been there?”
“Just came up.”
“Good. Hate to think I’m getting too feeble to know when there’s someone in the room. Everything all right?”
“Apart from being in the middle of a system-wide coup with half of my crew missing? Peachy. I mean, I’m not sleeping, and when I do it’s nightmares from start to finish, but peachy.”
“Well, it was kind of a stupid question. Sorry about that.”