Chapter Two: Holden
Holden looked over Alex's shoulder as he piloted the Rocinante toward Tycho; the largest mobile construction platform in the system. It served as the Rocinante's sanctuary for the last year. It was also the secret headquarters of the Outer Planets Alliance, led by their boss Fred Johnson.
A traffic controller appeared on the flight console's vid-screen. A faded Tycho patch adorned his blue jumpsuit. Holden guessed he was on third shift, given the man's drooping eyelids. He spoke into his headset with a heavy Belter accent.
"Rocinante, you're cleared to dock. Proceed to the transmitted coordinates," he said, with the disinterest of someone who repeated the same phrases a hundred times a day.
The controller flipped a switch, and the screen faded to black.
"Home sweet home," Alex said, grinning.
"Maybe we're getting shore leave. I could use some," Holden thought aloud.
"I hear that."
"And pay," Holden added.
"That too."
Holden gave Alex a pat on the shoulder. "Take her in, nice and easy. I'll check on the others."
"With pleasure, cap'n."
Holden descended the ladder to the ops deck. Amos and Naomi milled about, talking among themselves. Amos keyed some buttons on his hand terminal.
"Everything alright?" Holden asked.
"Filling out a requisition form for another torp," Amos replied. "Need a PDC refill too. And I told Sam her girl's gonna need repairs."
Holden nodded. "Sam" was Samara Rosenberg, chief engineer on Tycho, and her "girl" was none other than the Rocinante. The ship was jealously passed back and forth between her and Alex, as the situation warranted.
"The Roci will be docked for a bit," Holden admitted. "Enjoy the downtime while you can."
"Looking forward to it," Naomi replied.
"Gonna check on a few things. Meet you in the airlock."
The captain did some general maintenance on the ship. He inspected the armory's guns and munition stores, ran diagnostics and took inventory. In truth, he was distracting himself from the thought of having to debrief with Fred.
The two endured a fractious relationship. Holden still felt he had a right to know everything, but Fred kept things close to the vest. Holden tested the man's patience, determined to deal with him on equal footing. But Fred had the resources to keep the Rocinante going. As long as that was so, the OPA leader had the upper hand. It was a difficult balancing act, with a constant undercurrent of tension.
A dull ping reverberated through the ship; it had docked itself to the Tycho. Holden zipped up his flight suit, slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and rejoined the others.
• • •
Holden peered through the airlock window; a tube waited on the other side.
"Don't plan on hanging around too long," Holden warned. "Roci may just get patched up and we're out again, so behave yourselves."
"No promises," Amos said.
Holden feigned an admonishing look at the big man, who answered it with a cheese eating grin.
The captain opened the door for the crew and followed behind them. They came to a spacious repair bay. Flood lights hung on cross beams overhead. Workbenches and tool lockers lined the walls. Techs moved back and forth, working on bits of machinery. A faint motor oil scent hung in the air.
Samara stood in the middle of the bay, hands on her hips, draped in grease stained overalls. A tool-belt hung loose at her waist. Her heart shaped face put on its best angry look. Her flaming red hair added a nice touch. Her deep voice belied her svelte figure when she spoke.
"What'd you do to my baby this time?" she asked Alex, stabbing a finger at him.
"Whoa there, pardner," Alex said, "Take it up with the bandits, I just flew her."
Her green eyes squinted in suspicion. "Just full of excuses aren't ya?"
"Hey I got her back in once piece, ain't that worth somethin'?"
Samara's face softened. "Can't argue with that."
The chief engineer dropped the act and hugged Alex, laughing loudly enough to fill the room. "Git outta here, the grown-ups have to work," she said, tongue-in-cheek.
"Don't have to tell me twice," Alex replied. "Captain?"
"You heard the lady," he replied.
"I'll keep an eye on him for you, cap," Amos said.
"You'll keep an eye on me?" Alex asked.
"Well, yeah. Who else will bail you out of a bar fight?"
Alex paused for thought, as if recalling a previous event. "Fair point. Let's go."
Samara stifled a laugh and turned to Naomi and Holden. She strode up to the X.O., embracing her.
"Welcome back Knuckles," she said, using the nickname she gave her. Holden didn't know where it came from, just that it was an in-joke between them. He chose to leave it at that.
"Sam," Naomi replied warmly.
Holden listened politely as the two friends caught up, attempting to forestall the inevitable. He waited for a break in the conversation, after feeling he'd taken long enough.
"Naomi, I gotta meet with Fred."
"Want the boys and I to come with?"
"You know the drill. He talks my ear off, and I relay it back to you guys."
Naomi nodded.
"He in a good mood?" Holden asked Sam.
She waved an arm, as if to brush aside his concern. "Same ol', same ol'. Just tryin' to keep this whole mess together as usual. You'll be fine."
He touched her arm affectionately, as he walked by her. "Good to know. And be sure to take care of the Roci for us."
"Might as well. Ain't gonna trust my girl to anyone else, 'cept that crazy Martian of yours!"
Holden waved in response and as strode into the heart of the station.
• • •
The captain made his way to the bright lit corridors of the habitation ring. A couple young Belter girls strode by. He heard them chuckling from behind, probably joking about the Earther. A feeling of Déjà vu came over him. He swore he'd seen them the last several visits, around this time. It was one of many things he swore repeated themselves each trip back to Tycho.
He replayed the pattern in his head: Depart Tycho, hunt pirates, return home, debrief, drink at the same bar, sleep in the same quarters, collect pay (maybe), see the same faces, rinse and repeat. Something about it was just wrong. He felt a pang of nostalgia for the day the crew "legitimately salvaged" the Rocinante from its mother-ship the MCRN Donnager, and struck out on their own. He and the others hadn't risked everything just to become yes men for the OPA.
"This too shall pass," he thought, as he unlocked the door to his apartment.
He tossed his bag into a corner and flung himself onto his bed, letting the spin gravity press him into the plush mattress. Sleep began to overtake him, until his hand terminal vibrated and beeped from an incoming call.
"Oh come on!"
He ripped the terminal off his belt and accepted the call. He straightened at the sight of Fred Johnson's face on the screen. The leader's dark complexion contrasted with the soft hues of his office. His gravelly voice was no less intimidating as it blared through the terminal's mini speakers.
"Holden! Took you long enough to get here. Were you flying 'tea-kettle' the whole way back? And did you think the security cams didn't see you loitering around the repair bay? Get to my office."
Holden's hairs stood on end, his face flush with anger. "Now just you wait a minute, I—"
"And Holden," Fred interrupted, though in a much gentler tone.
"Yes?"
"Good job out there."
With that, Fred cut the transmission, leaving Holden with his mouth agape and confused. He sighed in exasperation, stuck the terminal back into his belt and stomped out of the room.
He entered into the corridor, to see the Belter girls staring at him with confusedly. As if to say, That Earther's not supposed to come back out of his room right now.
He shot them a grin. "Ladies."
They exchanged glances and chuckled to themselves as he headed toward Fred's office.
Did his reputation precede him? After all, he had broadcast himself to the whole system after the Canterbury's destruction. After he had mistakenly blamed Mars for the sudden, unprovoked attack on the ice hauler.
Perhaps they were his fans. Holden laughed off the thought and strode up to the office door. He took a breath, steeled himself and rang to enter...