Leviathan Wakes

Holden thought about calling Fred and warning him. He called Naomi instead.

“Hey,” she answered on the second chime. Holden could hear a bar’s frantic, alcohol-fueled merriment in the background.

“Naomi,” he said, then paused, trying to think of some excuse to have called. When he couldn’t think of one, he said, “Miller was just here.”

“Yeah, he cornered Amos and me a while back. What did he want?”

“I don’t know,” Holden said with a sigh. “Say goodbye, maybe.”

“What are you doing?” Naomi asked. “Want to meet up?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

* * *

Holden didn’t recognize the bar at first, but after ordering a scotch from a professionally friendly waiter, he realized it was the same place he’d watched Naomi sing karaoke to a Belter punk song what seemed like centuries before. She wandered in and plopped down across from him in the booth just as his drink showed up. The waiter gave her a questioning smile.

“Gah, no,” she said quickly, waving her hands at him. “I’ve had plenty tonight. Just some water, thanks.”

As the waiter bustled away, Holden said, “How did your, uh… What exactly is Golgo, anyway? And how did it go?”

“Game they play here,” Naomi said, then took a glass of water from their returning waiter and drank half of it in one gulp. “Like a cross between darts and soccer. Never seen it before, but I seem to be good at it. We won.”

“Great,” Holden said. “Thanks for coming. I know it’s late, but this Miller thing freaked me out a bit.”

“He wants you to absolve him, I think.”

“Because I’m ‘righteous,’” Holden said with a sarcastic laugh.

“You are,” Naomi said with no irony. “I mean, it’s a loaded term, but you’re as close to it as anyone I’ve ever known.”

“I’ve fucked everything up,” Holden blurted out before he could stop himself. “Everyone who’s tried to help us, or that we’ve tried to help, has died spectacularly. This whole fucking war. And Captain McDowell and Becca and Ade. And Shed—” He had to stop and swallow a sudden lump in his throat.

Naomi just nodded, then reached across the table and took his hand in hers.

“I need a win, Naomi,” he continued. “I need to do something that makes a difference. Fate or Karma or God or whatever dropped me in the middle of this thing, and I need to know I’m making a difference.”

Naomi smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

“You’re cute when you’re being noble,” she said. “But you need to stare off into the distance more.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I am. Want to come home with me?”

“I—” Holden started, then stopped and stared at her, looking for the joke. Naomi was still smiling at him, nothing in her eyes but warmth and a touch of mischief. While he watched, one curly lock of hair fell over her eye, and she pushed it up without looking away from him. “Wait, what? I thought you’d—”

“I said don’t tell me you love me to get me into bed,” she said. “But I also said I’d have gone to your cabin anytime you asked over the last four years. I didn’t think I was being subtle, and I’m sort of tired of waiting.”

Holden leaned back in the booth and tried to remember to breathe. Naomi’s grin changed to pure mischief now, and one eyebrow went up.

“You okay, sailor?” she asked.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” he said once he was capable of speech. “Is this your way of giving me a win?”

“Don’t be insulting,” she said, though there was no hint of anger in her voice. “But I’ve waited weeks for you to get your nerve up, and the ship’s almost done. That means you’ll probably volunteer us for something really stupid and this time our luck will run out.”

“Well—” he said.

“If that happens without us at least giving this a try once, I will be very unhappy about it.”

“Naomi, I—”

“It’s simple, Jim,” she said, reaching out for his hand and pulling him back toward her. She leaned across the table between them until their faces were almost touching. “It’s a yes or no question.”

“Yes.”

Chapter Forty-Four: Miller

Miller sat by himself, staring out the wide observation windows without seeing the view. The fungal-culture whiskey on the low black table beside him remained at the same level in the glass as when he’d bought it. It wasn’t really a drink. It was permission to sit. There had always been a handful of drifters, even on Ceres. Men and women whose luck had run out. No place to go, no one to ask favors of. No connection to the vast net of humanity. He’d always felt a kind of sympathy for them, his spiritual kindred.

Now he was part of that disconnected tribe in earnest.