Chapter Seven: Holden
Holden sat by Naomi at the conference table, obligatory coffee in hand. Amos reclined in his chair, lost in thought. Fred talked to some assistants, occasionally pointing to a portable terminal. A door hissed open to reveal Alex, rushing to a seat.
"Mister Kamal," Fred said. "How nice of you to join us."
"Never one to miss a party, sir," he said.
Fred dismissed the assistants and tapped on the terminal. A hologram of the Rocinante appeared above the screen. Holden grimaced at the amount of damage. It was like a roadside accident. Something tells you not to look, but you can't resist. Temporary steel casing, painted with black and yellow caution lines. Covered the hull's worst damage.
"I'll start with the positives," Fred said. "Midships PDC's were replaced. Took all hands and extra shifts, but the drive's restored. Furthermore, we fixed up the machine shop, quarters and cargo hold."
Fred zoomed on the storage and medical bays. The construction casing faded out to reveal their interiors. Aside from some preliminary repairs, the sections were burnt out husks.
"Bad news is we need to rebuild the storage and medical bays. No time for that now. You won't have an autodoc for awhile. Plan accordingly."
"Any idea what the lab's been up to since we left the sector?" Holden asked.
Fred nodded. "I tapped some OPA affiliated rock hoppers desperate for credits. We retrofitted their ships with small cannon and had them blockade Galatea. Nothing gets in or out. The situation on the ground is pretty much the same as you left it."
"And the fate of the Faust?" Naomi asked.
In response, Fred shrank the Rocinante from view, and brought up a mew hologram. This time it was a grainy image of Galatea. The enemy ship hugged the ground next to the lab.
"Surveillance sent us this photo of the Faust. With no drive and under blockade, its become a fixed anti-aircraft platform."
"Reckon we can slag it easily enough," Alex declared.
"Don't get cocky. Their PDC's still pack a punch. The Roci's anti-spalling armor only goes so far," Fred warned.
"We know," Holden replied, recalling how it saved the crew at the battle of Thoth Station.
Fred shrunk the image back into the terminal. "You know what to do. Return to Galatea and finish off the Faust. Then infiltrate the lab and neutralize any resistance. Lastly, retrieve the data and anything else we can use. If you need to touch base with the blockade, contact Watchdog One."
"Can we have call signs too?" Amos asked.
Fred, Naomi, Holden and Alex stared at him with Are you serious? looks.
"Doesn't hurt to ask," Amos said.
Fred cracked a smile, despite himself. "Move out. And get your asses back alive. That's an order."
• • •
The Rocinante hurtled toward Galatea It flipped its orientation en route, so its stern faced the moon. Alex would land the frigate vertically, as it was designed to do.
A web of armed mining crafts enveloped the moon; their icons appearing as blue arrows on Holden's screen.
The captain transferred the comms to his station.
"Uh...Rocinante to Watchdog One, come in," he said.
A video feed on Holden's station revealed a young, helmeted Belter. The rock hopper sat in the cramped cockpit, looking right at home. His suit was well worn; tribal tattoos ran down his lean face. He grinned at Holden, peppering his speech with Betler Creole.
"Oye, bosmang kapawu. We been waitin' for you. ˈRedē to fini da meshang, ya?"
"That's the plan," Holden said. "Anything to report?"
Watchdog looked sheepish for a second. "Cargo shuttle slipped through da blockade, Boss. Üzgün, sorry. Weaved right through our fire, then docked wit da lab."
"Don't worry about it. If they take off, you can try again."
The Belter put his index and middle finger together and double tapped the opposite side of his chest; a Belter gesture of respect. "Appreciate it, bosmang."
"No problem, we'll take things from here. Rocinante out."
"Landing coordinates locked in," Alex reported. "PDC's armed and ready."
The Rocinante's engines roared, as descended to Galatea's surface. Anti-aircraft rounds filled the sky, aiming for the frigate.
"Enemy fire incoming," Naomi reported.
The Rocinante dodged most of it. A few rounds scraped the port-side, causing superficial damage.
"Stop. Hurting. My. Baby!" Alex growled.
The pilot swiveled the PDC's downward, unleashing them on the Faust. Holden watched as the storm of tungsten slugs pelted the ship. One by one, the Faust's cannons were pounded into dust. The streams of enemy rounds lessened, until stopping altogether.
"Sorry to drop in like this," Alex quipped.
The Rocinante shuddered as it touched the ground. Robotic landing gear extended from the lower end of the ship, stabilizing it. The frigate towered over the battered, but still operable Faust.
Alex didn't need to be told what to do. There were no wisecracks as he trained the cannons onto the Faust. Silence filled the decks except the brrrt, brrrt, brrrt of the cannons firing into their target.
Holden looked on as the Faust crumpled like a tin can. When the deed was done, the warship was reduced to a heap of jagged, twisted steel.
"Okay people, lock and load. We're going in," Holden said, shutting down his console and rising from his seat.
With the storage deck off limits, the crew kept their weapons by their stations. Holden retrieved an assault rifle, clicking a cartridge into place. Amos took his signature shotgun. Fighting wasn't Alex's forte, but could handle a weapon if needed. He slid a clip into a high powered handgun and holstered it.
Holden looked to Naomi. "I know how you feel about violence," he said. "I'll understand if you don't want to go. You'll be safe here."
"I should come with you. Can't just stand by while you run into danger. I can help. The data will likely be encrypted. I might be able to hack it. The information's no good if we can't access it."
"Alright, but stay behind us."
Naomi nodded. She grabbed a laptop-sized piece of equipment with a strap. She slung it over her shoulder and stood by.
Holden, Amos and Alex took a couple of frag, stun and smoke grenades. Alex grabbed a pack of medical supplies and slung it over his back. The crew checked each other's armored suits and gear until satisfied everything was alright.
The ship's main elevator was still operational. The team took it down to the lower airlock, where Holden activated a ramp. The steel platform unfurled itself onto the moon's surface. The dome-shaped laboratory faced them, crab-like with its support arms splayed across the ground.
The team clanked down the ramp, weapons at the ready. They tread carefully; mini-jets of pressurized air keeping them on the ground as they neared the dome. Holden didn't like the quiet. No outer defenses seemed strange.
They came up to the entrance door. Holden pushed the only button on the control panel by it. It let out a rude beep in response. An ominous feeling came over him.
"Of course it's not that easy," Holden thought aloud.
"I'll see if I can crack it," Naomi said.
She strode up to the door and connected her device to the control panel. Holden watched her work as she ran a hacking program to bypass the lock. After an impossibly long moment, the panel let out a soft tone and door whirred open.
"Okay good. Fall back," Holden said.
Naomi detached the device and backpedaled away from the door. Holden and Amos spilled through the entrance, sweeping their guns side to side.
"Lights on," Holden said.
Everyone switched on the shoulder mounted flashlights attached to their suits.
The area was a spacious corridor. There was no one in sight. It looked surprisingly clean. Maybe Holden had seen too many horror movies, almost expected to see ooze or blood clinging to the walls. Instead, they were covered in foamy white padding. Segmented metal coils ran down the length of it. The armor's lighting only went so far. The hall's opposite end was shrouded in darkness.
They walked a little farther, stopping at a group of crates on either side of them. Each group was stacked about waist high. Seeing no obvious trap, they moved up to the crates.
"I don't like this, cap," Alex said. "Where's the welcoming committee?"
As if on cue, a mechanical whine sounded from the ceiling. An automated gun turret descended from a compartment, aiming for the team...