Leviathan Wakes

Chapter Thirty-Two: Miller

Miller's mind reassembled slowly and with several false starts. In his dreams, he was fitting a puzzle together as the pieces kept changing shape, and each time, just as he was on the verge of slipping the whole mechanism together, the dream began again. The first thing he became aware of was the ache at the small of his back, then the heaviness of his arms and legs, then the nausea. The nearer he came to consciousness, the more he tried to postpone it. Imaginary fingers tried to complete the puzzle, and before he could make it all fit, his eyes opened.
He couldn't move his head. Something was in his neck: a thick bundle of black tubes reaching out of him and up past the limits of his vision. He tried to lift his arms, to push the invading, vampiric thing away, but he couldn't.
It got me, he thought with a thrill of fear. I'm infected.
The woman appeared from his left. He was surprised she wasn't Julie. Deep brown skin, dark eyes with just a hint of an epicanthic fold. She smiled at him. Black hair draped down the side of her face.
Down. There was a down. There was gravity. They were under thrust. That seemed very important, but he didn't know why.
"Hey, Detective," Naomi said. "Welcome back."
Where am I? he tried to say. His throat felt solid. Crowded like too many people in a tube station.
"Don't try to get up or talk or anything," she said. "You've been under for about thirty-six hours. Good news is we have a sick bay with a military-grade expert system and supplies for fifteen Martian soldiers. I think we burned half of what we've got on you and the captain."
The captain. Holden. That was right. They'd been in a fight. There had been a corridor and people shooting. And someone had been sick. He remembered a woman, covered in brown vomit, with vacant eyes, but he didn't know whether it was part of a nightmare.
Naomi was still talking. Something about full plasma flushes and cell damage. He tried to lift a hand, to reach out to her, but a strap restrained him. The ache in his back was his kidneys, and he wondered what exactly was getting filtered out of his blood. Miller closed his eyes, asleep before he could decide whether to rest.
No dreams troubled him this time. He roused again when something deep in his throat shifted, pulled at his larynx, and retreated. Without opening his eyes, he rolled to his side, coughed, puked, and rolled back.
When he woke, he was breathing on his own. His throat felt sore and abused, but his hands weren't tied down. Drainage tubes ran out of his belly and side, and there was a catheter the size of a pencil coming out his penis. Nothing particularly hurt, so he had to assume he was on pretty nearly all the narcotics there were. His clothes were gone, his modesty preserved only by a thin paper gown and a cast that held his left arm stony and immovable. Someone had put his hat on the next bed over.
The sick bay, now that he could see it, looked like a ward on a high-production entertainment feed. It wasn't a hospital; it was the matte-black-and-silver idea of what a hospital was supposed to be. The monitors hung suspended in the air on complex armatures, reporting his blood pressure, nucleic acid concentrations, oxygenation, fluid balance. There were two separate countdowns running, one to the next round of autophagics, the other for pain medication. And across the aisle, at another station, Holden's statistics looked more or less the same.
Holden looked like a ghost. His skin was pale and his sclera were red with a hundred little hemorrhages. His face was puffy from steroids.
"Hey," Miller said.
Holden lifted a hand, waving gently.
"We made it," Miller said. His voice sounded like it had been dragged down an alley by its ankles.
"Yeah," Holden said.
"That was ugly."
"Yeah."
Miller nodded. That had taken all the energy he had. He lay back down and fell, if not asleep, at least unconscious. Just before his mind flickered back into forgetfulness, he smiled. He'd made it. He was on Holden's ship. And they were going to find whatever Julie had left behind for them.
Voices woke him.
"Maybe you shouldn't, then."
It was the woman. Naomi. Part of Miller cursed her for disturbing him, but there was a buzz in her voice - not fear or anger, but close enough to be interesting. He didn't move, didn't even swim all the way back to awareness. But he listened.
"I need to," Holden said. He sounded phlegmy, like someone who needed to cough. "What happened on Eros... it's put a lot of things in perspective. I've been a holding something back."
"Captain - "
"No, hear me out. When I was in there thinking that all I was going to have left was half an hour of rigged pachinko games and then death... when that happened, I knew what my regrets were. You know? I felt all the things that I wished I'd done and never had the courage for. Now that I know, I can't just ignore it. I can't pretend it isn't there."
"Captain," Naomi said again, and the buzz in her voice was stronger.
Don't say it, you poor bastard, Miller thought.
"I'm in love with you, Naomi," Holden said.
The pause lasted no longer than a heartbeat.
"No, sir," she said. "You aren't."
"I am. I know what you're thinking. I've been through this big traumatic experience and I'm doing the whole thing where I want to affirm life and make connections, and maybe some of that's part of it. But you have to believe that I know what I feel. And when I was down there, I knew that the thing that I wanted the most was to get back to you."
"Captain. How long have we served together?"
"What? I don't know exactly... "
"Ballpark estimate."
"Eight and a half runs makes it almost five years," Holden said. Miller could hear the confusion in his voice.
"All right. And in that time, how many of the crew did you share bunks with?"
"Does it matter?"
"Only a little."
"A few."
"More than a dozen?"
"No," he said, but he didn't sound sure.
"Let's call it ten," Naomi said.
"Okay. But this is different. I'm not talking about having a little shipboard romance to pass the time. Ever since - "
Miller imagined the woman holding up her hand or taking Holden's or maybe just glaring at him. Something to stop the flow of words.
"And do you know when I fell for you, sir?"
Sorrow. That was what the strain in her voice was. Sorrow. Disappointment. Regret.
"When... when you... "
"I can tell you the day," Naomi said. "You were about seven weeks into that first run. I was still smarting that some Earther had come in from out of the ecliptic and taken my XO job. I didn't like you much right at the start. You were too charming, too pretty, and too damn comfortable in my chair. But there was a poker game in the engine room. You and me and those two Luna boys out of engineering and Kamala Trask. You remember Trask?"
"She was the comm tech. The one who was... "
"Built like a refrigerator? Face like a bulldog puppy?"
"I remember her."
"She had the biggest crush on you. Used to cry herself to sleep at night all through that run. She wasn't in that game because she cared about poker. She just wanted to breathe some of your air, and everyone knew it. Even you. And all that night, I watched you and her, and you never once led her along. You never gave her any reason to think she had a chance with you. And you still treated her with respect. That was the first time I thought you might be a decent XO, and it was the first time I wished that I could be the girl in your bunk at shift's end."
"Because of Trask?"
"That and you've got a great ass, sir. My point is we flew together for four years and more. And I would have come along with you any day of that if you'd asked me."
"I didn't know," Holden said. He sounded a little strangled.
"You didn't ask. You always had your sights set someplace else. And, honestly, I think Belter women just put you off. Until the Cant... Until it was just the five of us. I've seen you looking at me. I know exactly what those looks mean, because I spent four years on the other side of them. But I only got your attention when I was the only female on board, and that's not good enough for me."
"I don't know - "
"No, sir, you don't. That's my point. I've watched you seduce a lot of women, and I know how you do it. You get fixed on her, you get excited by her. Then you convince yourself that the two of you have some kind of special connection, and by the time you believe it, she usually thinks it's true too. And then you sleep together for a while, and the connection gets a little faded. One or the other of you says something like professional or appropriate boundaries or starts worrying what the crew will think, and the whole thing slides away. Afterwards they still like you. All of them. You do it all so well they don't even feel like they get to hate you for it."
"That's not true."
"It is. And until you figure out that you don't have to love everyone you bed down with, I'm never going to know whether you love me or just want to bed down. And I won't sleep with you until you know which it is. The smart money isn't on love."
"I was just - "
"If you want to sleep with me," Naomi said, "be honest. Respect me enough for that. Okay?"
Miller coughed. He hadn't meant to, hadn't even been aware he was going to. His belly went tight, his throat clamped down, and he coughed wet and deep. Once he started, it was hard to stop. He sat up, eyes watering from the effort. Holden was lying back on his bed. Naomi sat on the next bed over, smiling like there had been nothing to overhear. Holden's monitors showed an elevated heart rate and blood pressure. Miller could only hope the poor bastard hadn't gotten an erection with the catheter still in.
"Hey, Detective," Naomi said. "How're you feeling?"
Miller nodded.
"I've felt worse," he said. Then, a moment later: "No. I haven't. But I'm all right. How bad was it?"
"You're both dead," Naomi said. "Seriously, we had to override the triage filters on both of you more than once. The expert system kept clicking you over into hospice care and shooting you full of morphine."
She said it lightly, but he believed her. He tried to sit up. His body still felt terribly heavy, but he didn't know if it was from weakness or the ship thrust. Holden was quiet, jaw clamped tight. Miller pretended not to notice.
"Long-term estimates?"
"You're both going to need to be checked for new cancers every month for the rest of your lives. The captain has a new implant where his thyroid used to be, since his real one was pretty much cooked down. We had to take out about a foot and a half of your small bowel that wouldn't stop bleeding. You're both going to bruise easy for a while, and if you wanted kids, I hope you have some sperm in a bank someplace, because all your little soldiers have two heads now."
Miller chuckled. His monitors blinked into alarm mode and then back out.
"You sound like you trained as a med tech," he said.
"Nope. Engineer. But I've been reading the printouts every day, so I've got the lingo down. I wish Shed was still here," she said, and sounded sad for the first time.
That was the second time someone had mentioned Shed. There was a story there, but Miller let it drop.
"Hair going to fall out?" he asked.
"Maybe," Naomi said. "The system shot you full of the drugs that are supposed to stop that, but if the follicles die, they die."
"Well. Good thing I've still got my hat. What about Eros?"
Naomi's false light tone failed her.
"It's dead," Holden said from his bed, turning to look at Miller. "I think we were the last ship out. The station isn't answering calls, and all the automatic systems have it in a quarantine lockdown."
"Rescue ships?" Miller asked, and coughed again. His throat was still sore.
"Not going to happen," Naomi said. "There were a million and a half people on station. No one has the resources to put into that kind of rescue op."
"After all," Holden said, "there's a war on."
The ship system dimmed the lights for night. Miller lay on his bed. The expert system had shifted his treatment regimen into a new phase, and for the past three hours, he'd alternated between spiking fevers and teeth-chattering chills. His teeth and the nail beds of his fingers and toes ached. Sleep wasn't an option, so he lay in the gloom and tried to pull himself together.
He wondered what his old partners would have made of his behavior on Eros. Havelock. Muss. He tried to imagine them in his place. He'd killed people, and he'd done it cold. Eros had been a kill box, and when the people in charge of the law wanted you dead, the law didn't apply anymore. And some of the dead assholes had been the ones who'd killed Julie.
So. Revenge killing. Was he really down to revenge killing? That was a sad thought. He tried to imagine Julie sitting beside him the way Naomi had with Holden. It was like she'd been waiting for the invitation. Julie Mao, who he'd never really known. She raised a hand in greeting.
And what about us? he asked her as he looked into her dark, unreal eyes. Do I love you, or do I just want to love you so bad I can't tell the difference?
"Hey, Miller," Holden said, and Julie vanished. "You awake?"
"Yeah. Can't sleep."
"Me either."
They were silent for a moment. The expert system hummed. Miller's left arm itched under its cast as the tissue went through another round of forced regrowth.
"You doing okay?" Miller asked.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Holden said sharply.
"You killed that guy," Miller said. "Back on the station. You shot him. I mean, I know you shot at guys before that. Back at the hotel. But right at the end there, you actually hit somebody in the face."
"Yeah. I did."
"You good with that?"
"Sure," Holden said, too quickly.
The air recyclers hummed, and the blood pressure cuff on Miller's good arm squeezed him like a hand. Holden didn't speak, but when Miller squinted, he could see the elevated blood pressure and the uptick in brain activity.
"They always made us take time off," Miller said.
"What?"
"When we shot someone. Whether they died or not, they always made us take a leave of absence. Turn in our weapon. Go talk to the headshrinker."
"Bureaucrats," Holden said.
"They had a point," Miller said. "Shooting someone does something to you. Killing someone... that's even worse. Doesn't matter that they had it coming or you didn't have a choice. Or maybe a little difference. But it doesn't take it away."
"Seems like you got over it, though."
"Maybe," Miller said. "Look. All that I said back there about how you kill someone? About how leaving them alive wasn't doing them any favors? I'm sorry that happened."
"You think you were wrong?"
"I wasn't. But I'm still sorry it happened."
"Okay."
"Jesus. Look, I'm saying it's good that it bothers you. It's good that you can't stop seeing it or hearing it. That part where it haunts you some? That's the way it's supposed to be."
Holden was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was gray as stone.
"I've killed people before, you know. But they were blips in a radar track. I - "
"It's not the same, is it?" Miller said.
"No, it isn't," Holden replied. "Does this go away?"
Sometimes, Miller thought.
"No," he said. "Not if you've still got a soul."
"Okay. Thanks."
"One other thing?"
"Yeah?"
"I know it's none of my business, but I really wouldn't let her put you off. So you don't understand sex and love and women. Just means you were born with a cock. And this girl? Naomi? She seems like she's worth putting a little effort into it. You know?"
"Yeah," Holden said. Then: "Can we never talk about that again?"
"Sure."
The ship creaked and gravity shifted a degree to Miller's right. Course correction. Nothing interesting. Miller closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. His mind was full of dead men and Julie and love and sex. There was something Holden had said about the war that was important, but he couldn't make the pieces fit. They kept changing. Miller sighed, shifted his weight so that he blocked one of his drainage tubes and had to shift back to stop the alarm.
When the blood pressure cuff fired off again, it was Julie holding him, pulling herself so close her lips brushed his ear. His eyes opened, his mind seeing both the imaginary girl and the monitors that she would have blocked if she'd really been there.
I love you too, she said, and I will take care of you.
He smiled at seeing the numbers change as his heart raced.