“So, Jim,” Alex said, walking over to another crash couch and dropping into it, “this ain’t a good start.”
“She’s looking stuff up about us,” Amos said to no one in particular, his gaze still on the floor. “Stuff she shouldn’t know.”
Holden knew what Amos meant. Monica’s reference to Baltimore was an allusion to Amos’ childhood as the product of a particularly nasty brand of unlicensed prostitution. But Holden couldn’t admit he knew it. He himself only knew because of an overheard conversation. He had no interest in humiliating Amos further.
“She’s a journalist, they do background research,” he said.
“She’s more than that,” Naomi said. “She’s a nice person. She’s charming and she’s friendly, and every one of us on this ship wants to like her.”
“That’s a problem?” Holden said.
“That’s a big fucking problem,” Amos said.
“I was on the Canterbury for a reason, Jim,” Alex said. His Mariner Valley drawl had stopped sounding silly, and just seemed sad instead. “I don’t need someone diggin’ up my skeletons to air them out.”
The Canterbury, the ice hauler they’d all worked on together before the Eros incident, was a bottom-of-the-barrel job for those who flew for a living. It attracted people who’d failed down to the level of their incompetence, or those who couldn’t pass the background checks a better job might require. Or, in his own case, those who had a dishonorable military discharge staining their record. After having served with his small crew for years, Holden knew it wasn’t incompetence that had put any of them on that ship.
“I know,” he started.
“Same here, Cap’n,” Amos said. “I got a lot of past in my past.”
“So do I,” Naomi said.
Holden started to reply, then stopped when the import of her words hit him. Naomi was hiding something that had driven her to take a glorified mechanic’s job on the Canterbury. Well, of course she was. Holden hadn’t wanted to think about it, but it was obvious. She was about the most talented engineer he’d ever met. He knew she had degrees from two universities, and had completed her three-year flight officer training in two. She’d started her career on an obvious command track. Something had happened, but she’d never talked about what it had been. He frowned a question at her, but she stopped him with a tiny shake of her head.
The fragility of their little family struck him full force. The paths that had pulled them all together had been so diverse, as improbable and unlikely as those kinds of things ever were. And the universe could just as easily take them apart. It left him feeling small and vulnerable and a little defensive.
“Everyone remembers why we did this, right?” Holden asked. “The lockdown? Mars coming after the Rocinante?”
“We didn’t have a choice,” Naomi replied. “We know. We all agreed to take this job.”
Amos nodded in agreement. Alex said, “No one’s sayin’ we shouldn’t have taken the job. What we’re sayin’ is that you’re the frontman for this band.”
“Yes,” Naomi said. “You need to be so interesting that this documentary crew forgets all about the rest of us. That’s your job for the rest of this flight. That’s the only way this works.”
“No,” Amos said, still not looking up. “There is another way, but I’ve never tossed a blind man out an airlock. Don’t know how I’d feel about that. Might not be fun.”
“Okay,” Holden said, patting the air with his hands in a calming motion. “I get it. I’ll keep the cameras out of your faces as much as I can, but this is a long trip. Be patient. When we get to the Ring, maybe they’ll be tired of us and we can pawn them off on some other ship.”
They were silent for a moment, then Alex shook his head.
“Well,” he said, “I think we just found the only thing that’ll make me look forward to getting there.”
Holden woke with a start, rubbing furiously at an itch on his nose. He had a half-remembered feeling of something trying to climb inside it. No bugs on the ship, so it had to have been a dream. The itch was real, though.
As he scratched, he said, “Sorry, bad dream or something,” and patted the bed next to him. It was empty. Naomi must have gone to the bathroom. He inhaled and exhaled loudly through his nose several times, trying to get rid of the itchy sensation inside. On the third exhale, a blue firefly popped out and flew away. Holden became aware of a faint scent of acetate in the air.
“We need to talk,” said a familiar voice in the darkness.
Holden’s throat went tight. His heart began to pound. He pulled a pillow over his face and suppressed an urge to scream as much from frustration and rage as the old familiar fear that tightened his chest.
“So. There was this rookie,” Miller started. “Good kid, you’d have hated him.”
“I can’t take this shit,” Holden said, yanking the pillow away from his face and throwing it in the direction of Miller’s voice. He slapped the panel by the bed and the room’s lights came on. Miller was standing by the door, the pillow behind him, wearing the same rumpled gray suit and porkpie hat, fidgeting like he had a rash.
“He never really learned to clear a room, you know?” Miller continued. His lips were black. “Corners and doorways. I tried to tell him. It’s always corners and doorways.”
Holden reached for the comm panel to call Naomi, then stopped. He wanted her to be there, to make the ghost vanish the way it always had before. And he was also afraid that this time, it wouldn’t.
“Listen, you’ve gotta clear the room,” Miller said, his face twisted with confusion and intensity, like a drugged man trying to remember something important. “If you don’t clear the room, the room eats you.”
“What do you want from me?” Holden said. “Why are you making me go out there?”
A thick exasperation twisted Miller’s expression.
“What the hell are you hearing me say? You see a room full of bones, only thing you know is something got killed. You’re the predator right up until you’re prey.” He stopped, staring at Holden. Waiting for an answer. When Holden didn’t respond, Miller moved a step closer to the bed. Something on his face made Holden think of the times he’d watched the cop shoot people. He opened a cabinet by the bed and took out his sidearm.
“Don’t get any closer,” Holden said, not pointing the gun at Miller yet. “But be honest, if I shot you, would you even die?”
Miller laughed. His expression became almost human. “Depends.”
The door opened and Miller blinked out. Naomi came in wearing a robe and carrying a bulb of water.
“You awake?”
Holden nodded, then opened the cabinet and put the gun away. His expression must have told Naomi everything.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. He vanished when you opened the door.”
“You look terrified,” Naomi said, putting her water down and sliding under the covers next to him.
“He’s scarier now. Before, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. But ever since he knew about the gate, I keep trying to figure out what he really means. It was easier when I could think it was some kind of static. That it didn’t… that it didn’t mean anything.”
Naomi curled up against his side, putting her arms around him. He felt his muscles relaxing.
“We can’t let Monica and her crew ever know about this,” he said.
Naomi’s smile was half sorrow. “What? James Holden not telling everyone everything,” she said.
“This is different.”
“I know.”
“What did he say?” Naomi asked. “Did it make sense?”