a system errored, it would alert her. If Captain McDowell left the command and control deck, it would alert her so she could turn the music off and look busy when he arrived. Her petty hedonism was only one of a thousand things that made Ade attractive to Holden. He walked up behind her, pulled the headphones gently away from her ears, and said, "Hey."
Ade smiled, tapped her screen, and dropped the headphones to rest around her long slim neck like technical jewelry.
"Executive Officer James Holden," she said with an exaggerated formality made even more acute by her thick Nigerian accent. "And what can I do for you?"
"You know, it's funny you should ask that," he said. "I was just thinking how pleasant it would be to have someone come back to my cabin when third shift takes over. Have a little romantic dinner of the same crap they're serving in the galley. Listen to some music."
"Drink a little wine," she said. "Break a little protocol. Pretty to think about, but I'm not up for sex tonight."
"I wasn't talking about sex. A little food. Conversation."
"I was talking about sex," she said.
Holden knelt beside her chair. In the one-third g of their current thrust, it was perfectly comfortable. Ade's smile softened. The log spool chimed; she glanced at it, tapped a release, and turned back to him.
"Ade, I like you. I mean, I really enjoy your company," he said. "I don't understand why we can't spend some time together with our clothes on."
"Holden. Sweetie. Stop it, okay?"
"Stop what?"
"Stop trying to turn me into your girlfriend. You're a nice guy. You've got a cute butt, and you're fun in the sack. Doesn't mean we're engaged."
Holden rocked back on his heels, feeling himself frown.
"Ade. For this to work for me, it needs to be more than that."
"But it isn't," she said, taking his hand. "It's okay that it isn't. You're the XO here, and I'm a short-timer. Another run, maybe two, and I'm gone."
"I'm not chained to this ship either."
Her laughter was equal parts warmth and disbelief.
"How long have you been on the Cant?"
"Five years."
"You're not going anyplace," she said. "You're comfortable here."
"Comfortable?" he said. "The Cant's a century-old ice hauler. You can find a shittier flying job, but you have to try really hard. Everyone here is either wildly under-qualified or seriously screwed things up at their last gig."
"And you're comfortable here." Her eyes were less kind now. She bit her lip, looked down at the screen, looked up.
"I didn't deserve that," he said.
"You didn't," she agreed. "Look, I told you I wasn't in the mood tonight. I'm feeling cranky. I need a good night's sleep. I'll be nicer tomorrow."
"Promise?"
"I'll even make you dinner. Apology accepted?"
He slipped forward, pressed his lips to hers. She kissed back, politely at first and then with more warmth. Her fingers cupped his neck for a moment, then pulled him away.
"You're entirely too good at that. You should go now," she said. "On duty and all."
"Okay," he said, and didn't turn to go.
"Jim," she said, and the shipwide comm system clicked on.
"Holden to the bridge," Captain McDowell said, his voice compressed and echoing. Holden replied with something obscene. Ade laughed. He swooped in, kissed her cheek, and headed back for the central lift, quietly hoping that Captain McDowell suffered boils and public humiliation for his lousy timing.
The bridge was hardly larger than Holden's quarters and smaller by half than the galley. Except for the slightly oversized captain's display, required by Captain McDowell's failing eyesight and general distrust of corrective surgery, it could have been an accounting firm's back room. The air smelled of cleaning astringent and someone's overly strong yerba mate tea. McDowell shifted in his seat as Holden approached. Then the captain leaned back, pointing over his shoulder at the communications station.
"Becca!" McDowell snapped. "Tell him."
Rebecca Byers, the comm officer on duty, could have been bred from a shark and a hatchet. Black eyes, sharp features, lips so thin they might as well not have existed. The story on board was that she'd taken the job to escape prosecution for killing an ex-husband. Holden liked her.
"Emergency signal," she said. "Picked it up two hours ago. The transponder verification just bounced back from Callisto. It's real."
"Ah," Holden said. And then: "Shit. Are we the closest?"
"Only ship in a few million klicks."
"Well. That figures," Holden said.
Becca turned her gaze to the captain. McDowell cracked his knuckles and stared at his display. The light from the screen gave him