Outriders (29 page)

The MPCR wasn’t the largest settlement on Mars, but it was an economic powerhouse and an important player in the power dynamic. Technically the Central Martian Authority superseded any one colony’s authority and kept things balanced on the red planet. Everyone knew the influence that the MPCR could wield, though, if it so chose.

“Turns out, of course, because nothing’s ever easy, he wasn’t just a diplomat,” Almeida continued. “He was a courier for CMA intelligence, had a habit of moving sensitive info around using his credentials.”

“Assassinated?”

“News says it was a heart attack. Personally, I think it probably had more to do with the sharp thing someone stuck through his brain stem.”

“Any chance that was someone on our side trying to stir the pot and see what floated up?”

Almeida shook his head. “That someone would have gone way off into deep black territory to end up there. He wasn’t on anyone’s radar, really. Not a high profile concern. In fact, the only reason we know about the intelligence angle is because NID was developing him as an asset.”

“Maybe CMA found out. Had someone kill him to keep him from talking with us.”

“We don’t think so. The Directorate hadn’t made the approach yet, they just had an agent watching him. No one’s quite figured out how to crack the Collective yet, at least not safely. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? We can’t tell if he got it on our account, or if he earned it on his own. NID’s getting paranoid. Even more so than usual, I mean. Couple of buddies of mine over there are starting to wonder if they’ve got a leaky pipe somewhere.”

“But you think that’s why Mars is moving their ships,” Lincoln said. “Because their guy got whacked.”

“Well, no, I’m not sure I’d say that exactly,” Almeida answered.

“No, I’m saying that
is
what you think,” Lincoln replied. “If talking about one thing reminded you of the other, then you think there’s a connection, whether you realize it or not.”

Almeida paused.

“Huh. Now that you mention it, it does sort of make you wonder, doesn’t it? But something like that, by itself, probably isn’t enough to warrant that kind of reaction. Typically, you wouldn’t expect a political loss to lead so directly to a military response.”

“Maybe they’re in the same jam we are,” Lincoln said. “Can’t broadcast the loss if you aren’t sure who the actors are. Better just to pretend everything’s exactly what it seems. The thing that worries me is that these sort of events are like roaches. Once you see one, you can’t help but wonder how many more there are running around that you haven’t seen. Or haven’t seen
yet
.”

“You’re saying the CMA’s been hit more than once?”

Lincoln shrugged. “Just saying it’s possible. We don’t know what we don’t know.”

“You’re starting to sound like NID.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Lincoln said. And then shook his head. “I don’t know what we’re going to find out here, but I don’t think anybody’s going to be happy about it when we do.”

“What’s next on the agenda?”

“I was thinking we’d come home, regroup. But if NID’s getting grabby about Prakoso, we probably ought to find a reason to stay out a little longer.”

“I thought you might say that,” the colonel said, and he smiled.

“Uh oh.”

“I’ve got you set to link up with the
USS Christopher T. Curry.
It’s not a fancy ship, but I can get you on it for free, and people generally don’t start asking questions until I start spending money. She’s on her way out as a backing force in case things go pear-shaped on us.”

“Might not be a bad idea to head Mars-ward,” Lincoln said. “Probably going to end up there at some point anyway.”

“Let’s hope not,” the colonel said. “I’ll have Kennedy pass on the details. Expect a runabout in a few hours.”

“Roger that.”

“Chase this thing down, captain,” Almeida said. “Wherever it leads. That’s what you’re built for.”

“Yes sir.”

Lincoln shut down the connection and returned to the main room where the team was gathered. NID had found them a temporary hiding place on the hop; an unused office suite on the outer ring of the station. It was probably intended for maybe three people, or as an executive office for one. Lincoln had made his call home from the bathroom. Wright was working Prakoso in an attached meeting room, while the rest of the team sat around waiting for the news. Though, of course, the team had varying degrees of what “sitting around” actually entailed.

Mike was stretched out on the floor with his head on his pack and a hat over his face, grabbing a little sleep while he could. Thumper and Sahil were likewise on the floor, but for entirely different purposes; Sahil was feeding Thumper drills on her groundwork, giving her the opportunity to practice moving into a variety of takedowns and joint locks. Lincoln knew well how strong Sahil was, and how unlikely he was to let anything be too easy for anyone. Thumper’s fluid transitions from one hold to another made him realize just how much he would not want to tangle with her.

Through the window of the meeting room, Wright saw Lincoln. He signaled to her, and she got up to join the group. She closed the door behind her, but stayed next to it, angled so she could keep an eye on Prakoso.

“Gonna be a little while until we get to breathe real air again, folks,” Lincoln said. “We’re hopping a ride out, so we can be closer to the action.”

“Action?” Thumper said, releasing Sahil from an arm bar and rolling up to a seated position.

Lincoln nodded. “CMA’s making moves on their approach corridors. UAF and friends are sending vessels forward to monitor the situation. Mom’s got us set up on the
USS Curry
.”

“Aw man, the
Curry
?” Mike said from under his hat. “Isn’t that like a laundry ship or something?”

“Nah,” Thumper said, “It’s a garbage barge.”

“It’s a Marine transport,” said Wright.

“Yeah,” Thumper replied. “That’s what I said.”

“And that’s the last time you’ll say it until we’re well clear of any Marines,” Wright said.

“Come on, Mir, it’s all in good fun,” Thumper said.

“The interservice rivalry thing is a great way to get remembered, Thump. The less anyone recalls about us or our time on board, the better. Understood?”

“Yeah, OK. Roger that,” Thumper said, and then she looked over at Lincoln and made a we-never-get-to-have-any-fun face.

“What are we doing about our little buddy?” Wright asked.

“He’s coming with,” Lincoln answered.

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” Wright said. “Pretty sure the navy isn’t going to like us bringing a potential threat on board.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’ll tell them that part.”

“Trying to keep up with him
and
keep it quiet? It’d be easier to just let NID have him.”

“Easier, sure. And that’d be the end of the trail for us. NID would lock him up somewhere, and we might as well go on home and wait for the next call,” said Lincoln. “So he goes with us. At least until we know for sure we can’t use him.”

“You want to take a crack at him?” Wright asked.

“Nah, I’m sure you gave him a good run. We’ll give him a break for a while, try again when we get on board the
Curry.
Runabout should be here in a couple of hours.”

Wright nodded. “All right. I’ll let him know.”

She went back into the small office and closed the door behind her. Lincoln was fairly sure that Wright’s version of keeping Prakoso informed also involved a few more rounds of questioning. After Wright had closed the door, Mike gave it a moment before he spoke from under his hat.

“Knock knock,” he said. Lincoln glanced over at him, and then back at Thumper and Sahil. Sahil just shook his head.
Don’t encourage him.

“Come on guys,” Mike said. “Knock knock.”

“All right man,” Lincoln said, more out of pity than out of any desire to hear the joke. Sahil made a face at him. “Who’s there?”

“Master sergeant,” Mike said.

“Master serge–”

“QUIT JOKING AROUND!” Mike bellowed. Thumper barked a laugh, and even Sahil cracked a smile.

“All right now,” Lincoln said, chuckling and only feeling a little bad about it, since Wright wasn’t in the room to defend herself. “You guys make sure you’re all set to move when it’s time. I don’t want to keep that runabout hanging around any longer than it has to.”

I
T WAS
hard to avoid drawing attention on the
Curry.
Everyone the team interacted with was polite and professional, but there were plenty of stares and whispers. It almost certainly didn’t help that Colonel Almeida had sent along a care package for them. Their suits. Even though Lincoln hadn’t gotten a chance to run one live, after the pain of leaving them behind for the Luna trip, seeing those crates was like being reunited with a long-lost friend. Luna hadn’t been the place for them. But now, not knowing what exactly lay ahead, it made sense to keep the suits nearby, just in case.

The specialized crates were kept locked safely in the
Curry
’s armory. Somehow, that made everything worse. The armor would have undoubtedly attracted some level of attention; but even just having a few mystery boxes on board sent the rumors pinging around the ship like a low-velocity round. The team and their guest tried to keep to themselves as much as possible, but there wasn’t a lot of privacy to be had on the vessel.

After three days of trying to keep a low profile without much success, Lincoln found himself accosted once more in the ship’s mess by a couple of eager young sailors and decided to take a different approach.

“All right,” he said, leaning close, and motioning to the two young men across from him to follow suit. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but you guys look like you can keep your mouth shut.”

“Yeah, absolutely we can,” one of them replied; a Petty Officer Third Class Trudeau by his uniform.

“Well… I don’t want to say too much but… I do a lot of work with you know…
special
people.” He gave them a meaningful nod.

“Oh man, I knew it,” Trudeau said. He nudged his pal, who was still just staring at Lincoln. “You guys are SEALs aren’t you?”

The navy’s special operations force had a long and proud tradition, one that had begun all the way back when people were still stuck on one planet.

“No, but…” Lincoln checked over his shoulders before continuing. “You ever hear of
applied
intelligence?”

“No,” Trudeau said, eyes wider. “What’s that?”

“I mean I don’t like to brag about it, obviously, but we do some pretty serious work.” Lincoln shrugged a shoulder and picked at the food on his plate.

Trudeau pressed him. “So you’re like, a secret ops kind of guy? Sneaking in places, getting intelligence, that sort of thing?”

“Well, I mean… I’m in the
information
division.”

“Information?”

“Well,” Lincoln said. “You know, information
support,
technically.”

Trudeau’s face changed. “Information support?”

“Yeah, I’m in the 301st Information Support Brigade. But don’t tell anyone that, I don’t want it to get around.”

And now Trudeau’s expression melted into something more like disappointment. “The 301st? What, do you like, fix computers or something?”

Lincoln played it up. “Well, I mean, yeah, but it’s for super important stuff. Secret stuff, like you said.”

“Aw man, are you kidding me?” Trudeau said, standing up. His silent friend followed suit. “I thought you were some cool guy, not just some egghead wannabe. Information
support…
”

“Hey, keep it down,” Lincoln protested, but Trudeau just waved a hand at him and stomped off. It didn’t take long after that episode for Trudeau’s shipmates to lose most of their interest in their quiet guests.

And quiet they were. The team knew the drill, but even Prakoso seemed to understand the situation; either that, or the nature of the life he led had made him instinctively capable of blending into whatever environment he happened to find himself in. Whatever fire the small man had left in him had been quenched in the custody of the team. He was already a quiet man, gentle in his movements and tone of voice. Watching him, listening to him, it seemed impossible that he was at all capable of the violence he’d laid on Lincoln and his teammates. Undoubtedly being surrounded by a ship full of Marines had some effect on his desire to try his luck at another escape. But there was more to it than just that. Something seemed to have broken in him, since that last attempt; as if they’d witnessed the wild thrashing of a beast’s final rage before its submission to the will of another.

Lincoln sat with Prakoso in one of two compartments the crew of the
Curry
had cleared for their use. Like everywhere else on the ship, space was tight, but Lincoln couldn’t complain. He figured there were some junior officers somewhere on board who’d given up their quarters and were now probably sleeping eight men deep.

They’d given Prakoso a little time free of questioning, time to adjust and reflect on his situation. But the clock was ticking, and they couldn’t afford to let things drag on for too long. Lincoln was back at it, with Thumper leaning against the bulkhead behind him, keeping casual guard. Lincoln sat in a chair across from Prakoso, but had angled it slightly to soften the sense of confrontation. Contrary to popular opinion, Lincoln had always thought of interrogation as a game of relationship, not a test of power.

“You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” Lincoln said. “But only on yourself. You understand that, yeah?”

Prakoso shrugged his slight shoulders. “Always, it’s the same.”

“I’m trying to help you here, Yayan. What do you think is going to happen if you don’t cooperate with us?”

“What do you think will happen if I do?”

“We can protect you,” Lincoln said. “Hide you. Give you a new life. Anything you want.”

Prakoso just stared back at Lincoln. “Sir, all these things you say. Which of them do you believe I haven’t heard ten thousand times before now? From men just like you.”