Persepolis Rising полностью

“I kind of feel like it’s mine, too,” she said with a smile. Holden was Holden. He’d need to take the weight for every bad thing that happened, and to overstate his appreciation for the good ones. It’s what made him him. He projected selfless heroism on everyone because that’s what he wanted to see in people. It was the same thing that caused most of the problems in his life—most people weren’t who he wanted them to be—but this was a nice moment. Ship safe. No one dead. Not even Houston, though if someone didn’t keep an eye on Amos, that might change.

“So it’s funny you should say that,” Holden said. He’d paused over his coffee long enough that she’d sort of forgotten what she said. “Would you like to buy the ship from me?”

“I—” Bobbie started, then, “Wait, what?”

“Naomi and I are thinking of pulling the ripcord. We’ve been doing this shit for a lot of years. It’s time to find a quiet spot somewhere. See how we like that for a while.”

It was more of a hit than anything Houston had managed. The ache started just below her ribs and spread up. She didn’t know what it meant yet.

“Is everyone else on the crew …?” Bobbie said, then wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.

“No. As Naomi recently pointed out to me, Alex will die in that pilot’s chair. Whoever buys the ship will have to be okay with that. I can’t speak for what Amos plans to do, you know, after.”

After. He meant after Clarissa died.

“I’ve been saving my money, mostly, but I’m not sure I can afford a gunship,” Bobbie said, keeping her tone light, trying to make a joke of it.

“We’ll finance it. Split the joint account six ways, then set up a payment plan for the rest. Based on our past income, it should be an easy nut to cover. You pay any new crew out of your end. The Roci is your ship.”

“Why me? Why not Alex?”

“Because there isn’t anyone on this ship I’d rather take orders from, and I’m the world’s worst person at taking orders. You’ll make a fantastic captain, and you’ll protect the reputation of this ship. It’s weird, but that’s something I find myself caring about.”

Bobbie swallowed something that had become stuck in her throat, and she straightened up her back. It was all she could do to not stand up at attention. Military tradition died hard, and a captain handing over command of their vessel bordered on sacred trust.

“I would, you know,” she said. “I’d see us become a cloud of gas before I’d violate the honor and good name of this ship.”

“I know. So is that a yes?”

“I do wonder …” Bobbie said.

Holden nodded and drank his coffee, waiting for her to finish.

“I wonder what the universe looks like without James Holden trying to ride to the rescue.”

“I imagine everyone will find things running a lot more smoothly,” Holden said with a grin.

“I wonder,” Bobbie repeated.

Singh was dreaming of wandering, lost in the halls of a vast spaceship, when the comm on his desk buzzed him awake.

“Yes?” he croaked even before he’d opened his eyes. There was nothing wrong with his taking a nap in his quarters. He wasn’t shirking any of his duties. And the shakedown of his ship, the Gathering Storm, had meant working for sixteen and sometimes eighteen hours a day for weeks now. He couldn’t continue as an effective leader and officer if he didn’t take every opportunity to grab a little shut-eye.

And yet, something inside him didn’t want his crew to know. As if having the same biological requirements as other humans was admitting weakness.

“Sir, we are nearing rendezvous with the Heart of the Tempest,” came the reply. Lieutenant Trina Pilau, his navigation officer. “You asked me to—”

“Yes, yes, quite right. I’m on my way,” Santiago said as he rolled out of his couch and waved on the lights.

His quarters were also his office, and the red folder containing his orders from the admiralty was still sitting on his desk. He’d been reviewing them for the fiftieth time or so when he’d fallen asleep. Leaving them out was a breach of operational security, and one he’d have reprimanded a junior officer for. As he returned them to his safe, he told the ship to make a note of the lapse in his private log. At least it would be part of the permanent record, and his superiors could decide later if it required further inquiry. He hoped they wouldn’t.

He took a moment to wash his face in his private lavatory. The cold, biting water was one of the perks of his station. He put on a fresh uniform. A captain set the standard for his officers. Appearing on duty clean and pressed was the minimum level of professionalism he expected from them, and so he was responsible for it in himself. When he was presentable, he opened the door that separated his private space from the bridge of the ship.