The thing Alex Kamal liked most about the long haul was how it changed the experience of time. The weeks—sometimes months—spent on the burn were like stepping out of history into some small, separate universe. Everything narrowed down to the ship and the people in it. For long stretches, there would be nothing but the basic maintenance work to do, and so life lost all its urgency. Everything was working according to the plan, and the plan was for nothing critical to happen. Traveling through the vacuum of space gave him an irrational sense of peace and well-being. It was why he could do the job.

Amos was a man without subtext. When he said he needed some time alone, it was because he needed some time alone. When Alex asked if he wanted to come watch the newly downloaded neo-noir films out of Earth that he subscribed to, the answer was always and only a response to the question. There was no sense of backbiting, no social punishment or isolation games. It just was what it was, and that was it.

That’s why Amos trusted the captain. When he said something, it was because he believed it. No need to analyze it or figure out what he really meant by it. Even when the captain fucked up, he was acting in good faith. Amos hadn’t met many people like that.

"It turns out," Alex said, exaggerating his Mariner Valley drawl just a little for the effect, "that sometimes I’m an asshole." "Hard truth." "It is." "You expect drinking alone to improve that?" "Nope. Just observing the traditions of alienated masculine pain."

Seemed like a fact of the universe that the closer you got to anything, the worse it looked.

As he walked out the door, he could picture Miller smiling and saying, You can tell you’ve found a really interesting question when nobody wants you to answer it.

In Amos’ experience the more dangerous any two people were, the more carefully polite their social interactions tended to be. The loud, blustering ones were trying to get the other guy to back down. They wanted to stay out of a fight. The quiet ones were figuring out how to win it.

Fred looked over to him with a weary smile. " ‘Be angry at the sun for setting if these things anger you.’ A poet named Jeffers said that."

"Yes we did," Fred said. "After a loss, the most important thing for a leader to do is be seen. And be seen walking under their own damned power. Sets the narrative."