“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.
Chapter Eight: Singh
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.
“Captain on the bridge!” the chief of the watch snapped. The officers who were not actively manning stations stood and saluted. Even the consoles, polished to a spotless shine, seemed to radiate respect, if not for him as a man then at least for his authority. The blue of the wall matched the flag, and the sigil of his command—three interlocking triangles—had been built into the surface. It made him feel a deep, almost atavistic pride seeing it. His ship. His command. His duty.
“Is Colonel Tanaka here?” Singh asked.
“The colonel is in her briefing room with her senior officers, sir.”
A twitch of annoyance troubled him, as much with himself as with his chief of security. He’d meant to have a quiet conversation with her before meeting with Admiral Trejo. He’d heard unofficially that Tanaka and Trejo had known each other before, and he’d intended to get her assessment of the man. But it was too late for that now.
“The con is yours,” said Davenport, his executive officer.
“I have the con,” Captain Singh said, and sat in his chair.
“The Tempest has cut thrust and is awaiting our arrival,” his flight control officer said, pulling up the range map on the main screen. “At current deceleration we’ll make final docking approach in twenty-three minutes.”
“Understood,” Singh replied. “Comm, please send Admiral Trejo my compliments and request permission to dock with Heart of the Tempest.”
“Aye, sir.”
“I’d love to get a good look at her,” said Davenport.
“All right, let’s take a peek,” Singh agreed with a nod.
The truth was, he was just as curious. Of course they’d all been briefed on the configuration of the Magnetar-class battle cruisers, of which Tempest was the first. The old Proteus class had been retired, and this new generation was only now being deployed. He’d seen dozens of concept sketches and photographs of the ships under construction, heard rumors of the new technologies that they would support. This would be his first chance to see one of Laconia’s most powerful battleships flying free and in her element. “Sensors, let’s take a close-up look, shall we?”