Leviathan Falls (The Expanse #9)

by James S.A. Corey

“I think we got lucky. I think we were one little system in a vast, unreachable universe that was always on the edge of destroying itself, and now we have thirteen hundred chances to figure out how to live with each other. How to be gentle with each other. How to get it right. It’s better odds than we had.” “Even if someone does, though. We’ll never know. The alien roads are gone. Now it’s just us.” The ring tumbled on her screen, and she looked past it to the stars. The billions upon billions upon billions of stars, and the tiny fraction that had other people looking back toward her. “The stars are still there,” she said. “We’ll find our own way back to them.”

Thirty-one days, eleven hours, forty-three minutes, and twenty-seven seconds had elapsed for his homeworld while Marrel and the twenty-nine other souls on board the Musafir existed only as energy and intention sliding along the membrane between universes. Thirty-one days as they vanished and reappeared at their destination, nearly 3,800 light-years from home.

“If the transit was unsuccessful,” Marrel said, “would we exist?” “It is theoretically possible for reintegration to occur at an unexpected destination, though it is statistically unlikely.” “May I see the contact report, please?”

The diplomatic team remained on the ship, but watched and listened as Marrel walked down the ramp to the grassy field that stretched off in every direction and took a deep breath of the air humanity had been born in.

“My name is Marrel Imvic, of the Dobridomov system,” he said in ancient Chinese. He was prepared to repeat the message in a dozen different old languages until one was recognized. “I am a linguist, here to establish communication protocols so that our diplomatic group can begin a dialog.” “You got any English?” the man said with perfect pre-collapse intonation. “Yes,” Marrel said, stunned. “Yes, I do.” “Good, because my Chinese is pretty iffy. I’m okay in Belter, but I bet you guys forgot that one.” “I know what Belter is,” Marrel said, thrilled at the idea that this man spoke a dialect considered dead for a thousand years.

“Cool,” the man replied. “So it’s been a rough millennium around here. We’re starting to get our shit together, and I’ve been doing what I can to help with that, but it’s slow going.” “Are you a leader of these people?” Marrel asked. “I’m not into job titles. Name’s Amos Burton. If we’re good, I’m just some asshole. If you’re here to start some shit, I’m the guy you’ll have to go through first. Tell ’em I said that.” He gave Marrel a vague smile and waited. The diplomatic group listened as Marrel translated for them. “Great,” Amos Burton said when he was done. “Now we got that shit out of the way, follow me. We’ll grab a few beers and get reacquainted.”