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A cup of coffee. That is all he had planned. Bring Cap a cup of coffee.
But, words got in the way. Changed his course of action. Words could be like tools, thats how Amos tried to think about them. Not necessarily the right tools, but useful if you knew the correct combinations.
However, more often than not, words couldn’t be trusted. Actions had about the same results. The data just didn’t support either of them with any kind of result that Amos could put value into. Conditioning had taught him that long ago.
What did have value, we’re the patterns. The consistency of words or actions over time. Like Morse code, a predictable chain of dots & dash’s that could be translated. Into a language that made sense.
That was how he saw Holden. Raw data. A bunch of ones & zeros that spelled out his message, his broadcast. On his face, or through galactic open channels. A message like that can’t lie and neither could his Captain’s zero poker face capabilities.
Holden was an unsettling individual. That was true. But, he was so consistent. Like the seal on a flash frozen noddle dish meant for space consumption. It served a purpose as quality control. Holden was the seal keeping everything in. And it worked every time, even with scratches or dents.
Amos had to shake these thoughts from his mind. They caught him off guard more & more on the Roci. He’s tried blaming them on Naomi’s absence. On the events during and after Io. And the ever annoying presence of the documentary crew.
But, none of it was the cause. Worry was the root, but not those worries in the past. Now he’d seemed to catch feeling worried, like it was a cold. Which was how Cap was acting too. He’d caught too many extra feelings lately, the weight of the world on his shoulders.
So, Amos was consumed with the nagging concern for Holden’s bumped up weird & chatty condition. Or rather deterioration.
How could someone seem to deteriorate and yet also make so much sense? Be so reassuring? That was what had Amos so confused. Cap couldn’t be sick right?
A simple action, a simple goal. Bring Cap a cup of coffee. That was all. He thought it would help. And it did. Except during the conversation, he had forgotten to offer it. It made no sense to Amos. Talking about the fixed coffee maker, should have triggered a reminder about the cup of coffee in his hand. And yet it had not worked out that way.
Because from the moment he saw Cap in the sick bay definitely acting crazy, he felt just as scrambled. He meant it when he said, it wasn’t his business. And that he wasn’t being judgmental.
However, much like the Chesapeake bay all around Baltimore. He didn’t hesitate to dive in. Which was crazy.
Because despite the risks, he had to do it. Even with the pollution, even with the fact he couldn’t really swim. Erich was drowning, so he did it. And that turned out fine, toxic water and all.
So, now he did the same thing. He repeated a pattern. If Cap was crazy he was in good company. The best.
Except that it wasn’t a physical rescue. That he could have handled. This was something different and had water even murkier than the Chesapeake.
Not being able to swim with the right skill set or technical knowledge hadn’t stopped him before. So, he dived into the conversation, with only the intangible words. Was it the right tool for the job? Amos wasn’t sure. But, it was necessary. And more than that it was reassuring. It was consistent.
Holden maybe acting crazy, but the takeaway he felt overloading his circuit board was so satisfying. Like the bite of a delicious piece of food, the sip of a refreshing drink or an orgasm during a great fuck.
How did he do that? Amos had no idea. Cap was not a man of mystery, far from it. And yet he held him in rapt awe. So, for now Cap being crazy wasn’t a problem.
The words were still spinning in his head.
“It’s a great quality….”
“You’ll be the first to know….”
The coffee he was holding, had grown cold. It was meant for Holden. But, he couldn’t go back now and give it to him.
So, Amos took a sip. He was surprised to find he liked the black coffee. Sure it was as bitter as the brothel escort not chosen by the rich client, but it was just another reminder of Holden’s consistency.
Amos took another sip, not his usual choice, as it lacked the cream & sugar. But, none the less it tasted great under the circumstances. And that was enough for now.