His mouth quirks for a moment - he did tell the admiral to match him up, already, did ask for specifics. He supposes now he has to work with what's he got. Holden's way. He hasn't fucked up dramatically yet, so - fair enough.
"The Admiral asked me something similar when I badgered her," he admits. He hadn't answered then - it was enough of an answer to his question, which was whether the admiral had any intention of being straightforward about her requirements.
He looks genuinely relaxed, now, without any sharp moment of transition, shoulders back down, leaning a little on the table, idly rolling the coffee bulb in little arcs with one hand.
"I know I'm a monster," he says, gently without being coddling or cloying, amiable and matter-of-fact. "And not a blind, heartless gullet like Kujen. I know other people are real. I know every one of them deserves a chance to live. And I killed and killed and killed anyway. I can't for the soul of me decide if the Admiral thinks I should have never tried or if I should have gone really big, just torched everything, wiped out the rot and let more brittle and less subtle tyrants move in to motivate the survivors..."
He thought about it, about what would happen if he just took his swarm and broke everything he could, as hard and fast as he could, faster than Kujen could change the rules on him. He knew he'd be playing at a disadvantage but if he were brutal enough - not even Calendrical warfare could stave off the collapse, and soon enough it would be a self-perpetuating implosion -
He's thought about it, especially in the cradle, playing what-if uselessly with himself. But when he said I did everything I was capable of, it means: he thought about it, and he couldn't do that.
"You don't seem like one for not trying. Which is a species of relief." He doesn't know what it would take, to make himself believe that would have been the right choice. He can feel it nearby, razor-sharp despair like a knife hidden under a pillow, much closer now that he's finally, really failed. But he didn't want to grasp it.
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"The Admiral asked me something similar when I badgered her," he admits. He hadn't answered then - it was enough of an answer to his question, which was whether the admiral had any intention of being straightforward about her requirements.
He looks genuinely relaxed, now, without any sharp moment of transition, shoulders back down, leaning a little on the table, idly rolling the coffee bulb in little arcs with one hand.
"I know I'm a monster," he says, gently without being coddling or cloying, amiable and matter-of-fact. "And not a blind, heartless gullet like Kujen. I know other people are real. I know every one of them deserves a chance to live. And I killed and killed and killed anyway. I can't for the soul of me decide if the Admiral thinks I should have never tried or if I should have gone really big, just torched everything, wiped out the rot and let more brittle and less subtle tyrants move in to motivate the survivors..."
He thought about it, about what would happen if he just took his swarm and broke everything he could, as hard and fast as he could, faster than Kujen could change the rules on him. He knew he'd be playing at a disadvantage but if he were brutal enough - not even Calendrical warfare could stave off the collapse, and soon enough it would be a self-perpetuating implosion -
He's thought about it, especially in the cradle, playing what-if uselessly with himself. But when he said I did everything I was capable of, it means: he thought about it, and he couldn't do that.
"You don't seem like one for not trying. Which is a species of relief." He doesn't know what it would take, to make himself believe that would have been the right choice. He can feel it nearby, razor-sharp despair like a knife hidden under a pillow, much closer now that he's finally, really failed. But he didn't want to grasp it.