James Corey - Babylon's Ashes

“Are you all right?” Naomi asked.

“Yes,” Bobbie said in a voice that meant no . “It’s just … this is really the end of the terraforming project, isn’t it? I mean, I knew that, but … I don’t know. Trying to get us all to here helped distract me. But this agreement they’re hammering out. It’s the shape things are going to have from now on.”

“Yeah,” Naomi said. “And it’s going to be different.”

“All my life, changing Mars. Making it a viable ecosystem … it’s just always been a thing. Hearing about rules and laws and systems for how that’s never coming back … I don’t know. It’s kind of hitting me that it’s really gone.”

“Probably, yeah,” Naomi said, but Bobbie went on as if she hadn’t heard her. As if she was saying something out loud for the first time. Discovering her thoughts by hearing them expressed in her own voice.

“Because Inaros and all the Free Navy people, they weren’t fighting for Belter rights or political recognition. They were fighting to have the past back. To have things be what they’ve always been. Sure, with them on top maybe, but … Earth’s not going to be humanity’s home anymore. Mars isn’t going to be Mars, not like I knew it. Belters aren’t even going to be Belters now. They’re going to be … what? Shipping magnates? I don’t even know.”

“No one does,” Naomi said, leading Bobbie forward. The big Martian didn’t seem aware that they were walking. “But we’re going to find out.”

“I don’t know who I am in that world.”

“I don’t either. None of us does. But I know that I have my ship. And my little family with it.”

“Yeah. That sounds like a plan.”

“Good,” Naomi said, and put a microphone in Bobbie’s hand. “Let’s pick a song.”

The pub filled up more at shift change, but for once no one seemed to take much notice of Jim or any of the rest of them. Even when Naomi got a standing ovation for what in retrospect must have been a deeply flawed version of Devi Anderson’s “Apart Together,” nobody seemed to recognize the crew of the Rocinante as being anything but the people at table six. It felt good knowing that could still happen sometimes. By the end of the night, even Clarissa had a turn on stage. It turned out she had a good singing voice, and after she got down, a local boy with Loca Griega tattoos tried to hit on her until Bobbie gently made it clear nothing was going to happen.

They took the tube back to the dock, filling up almost half of a car just themselves, still a little tipsy, still talking too loud, laughing at nothing really. Alex’s Mariner Valley drawl got thicker, and Bobbie mimicked it, egging him on until they sounded like parodies of themselves. Jim, least involved with the hilarity and still somehow central to it, sat back against the rattling wall of the car, his hands behind his head and his eyes half-closed. She didn’t really understand what she and Jim and all the others were reacting to until they were at the ship. Seeing the Rocinante locked in the docking clamps was like falling into a familiar pair of arms. They were giddy because Jim was giddy. And Jim was giddy because, for once, he’d just avoided being responsible for the future of the whole human race.

It seemed like a fair thing to celebrate.

Back on board, the group moved together to the galley, not ready yet for the day to be over. Clarissa made herself some tea, but there wasn’t any more alcohol. Just the six of them, lounging in a galley designed to serve many more. Alex, sitting with his back against one wall, told a story about when he’d been in training on Olympus Mons and the mother of one of the other recruits had arrived to complain that the drill sergeant was being too rough on her son. That led into Bobbie talking about a time when she and her squad had all gotten food poisoning at the same meal, but bullied each other into training the next day regardless, then spent the day puking into their helmets. They were all laughing together, sharing parts of the lives they’d had before they came here. Before the Rocinante was their home.

Eventually, without the flow of conversation abating, Alex made enough chicken with peanut sauce for everyone and passed bowls out while Clarissa told a surprisingly funny story about being in a prison writing workshop. Naomi ate the chicken with a fork, leaning against Jim as she did. The sauce wasn’t like Belters made it, but it was good enough.

She felt Jim getting near the end of his endurance. He didn’t say anything, but she knew from the sound of his breath and the way he unconsciously tapped his leg like a child trying to stay awake. She felt the exhaustion herself. It had been a long day, and the stakes had been high. The pleasant buzz left over from the pub was starting to fade, and deep, muzzy tiredness was slipping into her joints. But she didn’t want the moment to end either, any of the moments with these people in this place, even though eventually they had to. No, not even though . Because .

Because eventually they had to. Nothing lasted forever. Not peace. Not war. Nothing.

She stood first, taking her bowl and Jim’s and Bobbie’s, since she was done with it, and feeding them into the recycler. She stretched, yawned, held her hand out to Jim. He took his cue. Alex, who was talking about a music performance he’d seen on Titan back when he’d still been in the service, nodded his good night. Naomi led Jim to the lift, then to their cabin with the occasional sound of laughter filtering through to them, fainter the farther they went, but not absent. Not yet.

Jim fell onto the crash couch like a marionette with his strings cut, threw one arm across his eyes, and groaned. In the light, he looked young again. The stubble on his neck and along the side of one cheek was thin and patchy, as if it were growing in for the first time. She could remember when the prospect of Jim and his body had been as powerful as a drug to her. Powerful enough that she’d been driven to take the risk of being with him. He hadn’t known then how much of a leap it had been for her. He probably still didn’t know now. Some things were secret even after you told them. He moaned again, shifted his arm, looked up at her. His smile was equal parts exhaustion and delight. Exhaustion from what they’d been through. Delight because it was done. And because they were both there.

“Do you think Pa will take the job?” he asked. He sounded almost wistful.

“Yes, eventually,” Naomi said. And then, a moment later, “How long have you been planning that?”

“The idea of the union, or Pa in particular?”

“Pa.”

Jim shrugged. “It was pretty clear early on that having an Earther be the head of it wasn’t going to work. I thought Fred would be able to find someone. So I guess I started looking at her for it right around then. Consciously, anyway. She was kind of perfect, though. She broke with the Free Navy in order to help the Belt. No one else did that, or at least not as openly. And she won every fight she led her people into. I think the ones who need to take her seriously, will.”

Naomi sat on the edge of the crash couch. It shifted with the change in the center of their combined weight, moving Jim a few centimeters closer to her. He stretched out an arm as invitation, and she settled back into it. “Do you think she’ll enjoy it?”

“I don’t know. I’d hate it, but maybe she’s different enough from me she’ll find something to redeem the process. The important thing is I think she’ll be good at it. Plays to her strengths. At least I don’t know anyone who’s likely to do better.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said. “You really think you couldn’t have done it?”