by Jay Posey
“So we’re looking at an inside job then,” Wright said.
“The Directorate is adamant that it’s not, but, then again, of course they would be. Inside job would point the finger right back at them. We’ll keep it on our possible list, anyway. It’d certainly be the simplest solution.”
“Anything can be hacked,” Thumper said.
“With the right resources, sure,” Lincoln replied. “So we keep the folks with the capability on the list of suspects, too. Still a short list. We’re talking foreign intelligence, somebody else’s military, state-level actors.”
“Or a proxy,” Wright added. “Who knew about it?”
“Ops team, obviously,” Lincoln said. “Elements of command, an isolated cell within NID. As I said, this thing is highly-compartmentalized, very need-to-know.”
“I don’t suppose they were kind enough to give us any sort of jump start on this one?” Mike asked. “Or is it business as usual, and do all our own legwork first?”
“Actually, we got a lucky break for once,” Lincoln answered. “NID techs picked up a comms burst from a long-hauler coming back from the Belt. The transmission itself was routine, but there was a second layer to it, encrypted, hidden in the stream. NID’s folks picked some indicators out of it.”
“‘Indicators’?” Thumper asked. “Is that your word, or theirs?”
“That was theirs.”
“Anybody specify what they meant by that?”
“They declined to do so,” Lincoln said. “Which is why I said it was a lucky break.”
Thumper shook her head. “Oh, you meant a lucky break.”
Lincoln nodded. The Directorate naturally had to share information with outside agencies or organizations to get things done, but they were always paranoid about non-Directorate personnel figuring out how the information had been acquired. A lucky break had become the team’s code for whenever intel seemed a little too detailed or too perfect for the acquisition story that accompanied it. Frequently that meant NID had a source very close to the situation. And it almost always meant they knew more than they were willing to share. But then, that too was to be expected.
“So this ship…” Wright prompted.
Lincoln gestured at the projector, skipped a few more slides he’d prepared, and brought up an image of the target vessel.
“This is the Ava Leyla, a Marushkin Type-43 cargo ship. Free agent hauler, registered out of Luna originally. Official records have her doing far-reach hop runs mostly.” The Ava Leyla’s travel records showed her spending the past year and a half bouncing between a variety of space stations out between the Belt and Mars. “But there are some gaps in her history, manifests. Records are good enough to pass most checks, not quite enough to hold up under thorough scrutiny.”
“And we think they’re in on it?” Wright said.
“Could be. Pretty sure they’re up to something they shouldn’t be, but that doesn’t mean they’re connected to our primary target. Either way, it’s the only place we know to start. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“So do we actually know where they are?” Thumper asked.
“Well,” Lincoln answered. “Not exactly. General idea. I think everyone assumed you could get us the last thousand klicks.” Thumper nodded with an of-course-they-did expression on her face.
“And once Thump tracks ‘em down,” Sahil said, “No chance somebody’s gonna do us the favor of holdin’ ‘em up till we get there, I suppose.”
Lincoln shook his head. “If it was going to be that easy, I don’t think they would have bothered to call us. Nobody wants to draw any attention to any of this. This is another situation where just poking at it might tip off the wrong people that we’re on the trail. Same deal as LOCKSTEP.”
LOCKSTEP had been a secret Directorate space station, a critical facility for collecting signals intelligence on Mars. Right up until a sophisticated party had put an asteroid through the middle of it. Lincoln’s first operation as the Outriders’ team leader had been to track down the people responsible; in doing so, they’d only narrowly averted the first shots of a war between Earth and Mars. The relationship between the two planets still hadn’t recovered.
“We need to see what we can do, and we need to do it real quiet,” he continued. “NID’s being surprisingly collaborative on this one, if that tells you anything.”
“We’re talking world-ending level stuff here, huh?” Mike asked.
“Worse,” Lincoln said. “Career-ending. Heads are going to have to roll over this no matter what. Only question now is how high the axeman has to go. And that probably depends on what we find, and how quickly we find it.”
“Is she the only one out there?” Thumper asked, her tone suggesting a deeper question. She was doing the math, thinking ahead, looking at the strategic implications beyond the immediate crisis. “SUNGRAZER, I mean.”
“Another good question. And another one I can’t answer. Classified.”
“Well, yeah of course, but I mean ballpark, how many of these vessels are vulnerable now. Just the one? Ten? A hundred?”
Lincoln shook his head. “As far as I know, could be any of those.”
“I wonder if maybe this is finally the kind of thing that’s going to get everyone to agree not to weaponize autonomous vehicles.”
“That probably depends on how well we do,” Lincoln answered.
“How we gettin’ out?” Sahil asked.
“Navy’s got a changeover coming up. We’ll hitch a ride as far out as Blue Water goes, then launch a skiff from there.” Blue Water was the extent of Earth’s projected presence out into open space, all the way to three light-seconds past the moon’s orbit. Lincoln hadn’t even been old enough to walk when that declaration had been made, and he’d never dug into why that particular range had been designated as Earth’s rightful territory.
“Ugh,” Mike said. “We gotta operate off a boat?”
“Only until we figure out where we’re supposed to go next.”
“Fifty bucks says Mars,” Thumper said.
“Don’t say that,” Sahil said.
“I’ll take that bet,” said Mike. “My gut says it’s somebody closer to home. Eastern Coalition. Off Luna, I’d say.”
“If that’s what your gut’s sayin’,” Sahil said, “I’ll throw fifty in on Mars.”
“So, in summary,” Wright said, getting back to business, “we’re supposed to find an invisible ship in the middle of space, without letting anyone know what we’re looking for.”
“Before whoever took it uses it to destroy a city,” Thumper added.
“On an unknown timetable,” Lincoln finished. “Yeah, that about covers it. Officially, we are to locate SUNGRAZER and recover her if we can, or destroy her if we have to. Secondary objectives, which we’ll probably get for free along the way, are to figure out who seized control and more importantly how they did it. I’m guessing this isn’t the sort of thing we want to have to do more than once. I’ve got full packets prepped for each of you. Eighteen hours to lift off. Any more questions?”
Lincoln looked to each of his teammates in turn. Only Mike raised his hand.
“Yeah, Mike?”
“I got time for breakfast?”
“Not for your usual farmhand’s one.”
Mike made a face, then shrugged as he got to his feet.
“Probably just lose it on launch anyway,” he said.
“One more thing,” the colonel said, moving out of his corner towards the podium, “if you’re done, captain.”
“Yes sir,” Lincoln said, stepping aside.
“We’re a small outfit,” Almeida said. “I’ve kept it that way for a long time, for very good reason. But as good as you kids are, there’s one hole in our capabilities that I just haven’t been able to fill to my satisfaction. Until recently.”
“Uh oh,” Thumper said.
“You gettin’ us a sniper that can finally shoot?” Sahil asked.
“Hey now,” Mike said.
&
nbsp; “We’re getting air support,” the colonel said. “Two pilots.”
“Oh jeez,” Mike said. “Aviators?”
“I wanted to bring it in-house. We’ve been hitching rides at the mercy of everyone else’s schedules for too long. And I managed to wrangle a little extra scratch for our budget.”
“Sure, not like I could have used a raise or anything,” Mike replied.
“Settle down, Michael,” Almeida said, and from the tone of his voice, Lincoln wondered if he’d just discovered how the colonel had gotten his nickname. “Trust me, I wouldn’t make changes to the team chemistry just because I can. This is the right move for the unit, short- and long-term. I know it’ll take some time to adjust, but I believe these guys are going to give you greater flexibility and take some of the headache out of logistics. You’ll move faster with dedicated support. I don’t seem to recall any of you filing any complaints about getting on target too fast.”
“Anybody we know?” Lincoln asked. Almeida glanced at him with a twinkle in his good eye.
“You may have met once before,” he answered. Then he stepped over to the door, opened it, and leaned out into the hall. When he stepped back in, two men followed. Two brothers. Will and Noah Barton.
“You’re kidding me,” Wright said, but there was a smile on her face. “Where’d Mom find you two?”
“Out in the junkyard,” Will answered.
“According to the official records, these two earned themselves a demotion and reassignment to the 301st Information Support Brigade, 519th Applied Intelligence Group, Logistical Support.”
On a previous mission, the Outriders had been left stranded on a target after their support had been withdrawn. Whether by mistake or by design was never exactly clear. Regardless, the Barton brothers had intervened against direct orders, pulled off a very risky extraction, and rescued Lincoln and his team out of a dire situation. Lincoln hadn’t ever heard what had become of them afterwards. Apparently Almeida had worked some of his magic.
“Actually, I earned two demotions,” Will said.
“It was the only way I could afford you both,” Almeida said.
“So you guys are our bus drivers then,” Thumper said.
“More like delivery service,” Noah replied. “Just hauling gear around for a bunch of technicians, you know.”
He put a hint of extra emphasis on the word technicians. It was both a running joke within the Outriders, and a partial cover story. It was another origin story Lincoln didn’t know. But pretty much whenever someone outside the team asked an Outrider what they did, the reply was they were “technicians from Information Support”. Officially, it was true. The Outriders really were part of the 301st Information Support Brigade. It’s just that technician had taken on a different meaning within the team.
“It’s going to be great for your career,” Lincoln said.
“Oh yeah, I can tell that already,” Noah answered.
“What’s big brother think so far?” Lincoln asked, looking to Will.
“Well,” Will said, and he paused, taking an overly-dramatic look around. “Can’t say I’m too impressed with the accommodations. Ink’s barely dry on the transfer, and they’re already getting me out of bed at ungodly hours.” Then he looked at Lincoln. “But the people seem all right. At least so far.”
“Gonna have to get used to roughing it, starfish,” said Mike, tossing out a mildly derogatory term for space pilots. “We here in the army tend to spend our money only on the essentials.”
“Not my fault you joined the wrong branch,” Will replied. He extended his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Mike,” Mike said, shaking hands first with Will, then with Noah.
“Oh, right,” Lincoln said. “Sorry.” The pilots had met the rest of the team, but not Mike. He’d already been dead when the brothers had rescued the team. They’d brought his body home. “Mike, Will and Noah Barton. Barton boys, this is Sergeant Pence.”
“Not One-Time Mike Pence?” Noah asked, using Mike’s sometime nickname. Mike’s eyebrows went up a little.
“What, you heard of me or something?”
“I don’t think you can spend any time around special operations and not have heard of One-Time Mike Pence.”
“None of the good stories are true,” Mike said. And then after a beat, he added, “But I like to tell ‘em anyway.”
“Eighteen hours to lift off,” Almeida said loudly. Then he smiled. “You’ll have plenty of time on the way to sniff each other out.”
“We’re going out?” Will asked. Almeida nodded.
“Wouldn’t be much point in bringing you on, if I was going to let you sit around our less-than-impressive accommodations.”
“Why didn’t you bring them in for the briefing then?” Lincoln asked, bewildered. And, admittedly, he was already dreading having to give the same presentation again.
“Clearance hasn’t come through yet,” Almeida said. “Don’t worry, it should be in before you get out of Blue Water. And I’m sure your briefing will be even better the second time, captain.”
“You folks don’t mess around, do you?” Will asked.
Lincoln chuckled and shook his head. “Welcome to the Outriders.”
SIX
“I’m counting on you,” Elliot said. He leaned forward over the small table and lowered his voice. “I don’t have anyone else I can trust.”
It was a lie, of course. The only way this situation could have been stupider would have been if Elliot genuinely had no other options. Options were the lifeblood of an undeclared field officer. But there was time pressure on this one. NID was making impossible demands, as usual, and, as usual, Elliot was finding a way. The Powers That Be didn’t always like the way he worked, but they never complained about the results. And whenever something had to get done, they didn’t seem to have any issues asking him to work his magic.
“I’m not trying to be difficult, Volodya,” the man answered, using the name Elliot had given him when they’d first met. He sipped from the small cup of hot tea in front of him, and then replaced it on the table, and shook his head. “I just don’t know how to make it work. These are delicate matters. They take time to develop.”
He seemed sincere.
“I know, Kit,” Elliot said, leaning back. “I know.”
Kit Leong was one of the wealthiest citizens in the Meridiani Administrative Region and, more importantly, a close advisor to the region’s Minister of Finance. Elliot didn’t know what the Directorate was up to exactly, what poison they wanted to pour into the Minister’s ear. That wasn’t his business anyway. All he knew was that he needed to win access for some diplomat he’d never met, and that the best chance to win it quickly was through his well-developed connection Kit Leong.
They were speaking Mandarin, with its curious Martian-dialect, a language that Elliot didn’t actually know himself. The linguistic implant was smaller than a grain of sand, lodged snugly somewhere just behind his left temple. According to the literature, there was no discomfort, and there were no known side effects to running it. The device was, in fact, quite handy when operating in foreign territory. Elliot still wasn’t clear on the exact details of how it knew when to kick in, but the implant took over language processing whenever necessary, and made him conversational in languages he didn’t know. It still wasn’t as fast as natural language; he could never pass as a native speaker. Just a slight lag in response time, noticeable but not disruptive.
Elliot paused as if weighing his options, or searching for words. Also a ruse. He already knew what he was going to say, but he needed the dramatic effect. He looked off to the skyline, at the high-rises stretching up, taller than the tallest buildings he could remember ever having seen back on Earth. So tall, they almost seemed like if you stood on the roof, you might be able to reach up and actually touch the thin membrane that shielded the city from the planet’s worst environmental features. Impossible, of course. The bubble was a good couple of hundred mete
rs above the tallest building. Even so, it was hard not to be impressed, even sitting as they were in a private window-room on the sixty-first floor.
“I don’t come to you just for the help, you know,” he said, eyes on the horizon. “I come to you for your advice, as well.”
“My advice is the same as always,” Kit answered. “Come work for me.” Elliot looked back at the man, saw him smiling now.
“Tempting,” Elliot said. “As always.”
“I’m a foolish old man to keep asking.”
“A wise man. There’s a good chance that one day I may say yes,” Elliot answered. “But today is not that day.”
“When do you return to the Collective?” Kit asked.
“Supposed to head back in a couple of hours,” Elliot said. “I could delay until the morning. If that would make any difference.”
Kit shook his head again. “This would be a matter of weeks, Volodya. Not days. And certainly not hours.” The man sipped his tea again, looking thoughtful. And then, his eyes still on his tea, he said, “Unless…” as if a thought had just occurred to him.
And this was the moment Elliot had been working towards. Naming the price. They were both playing the game. And they both knew they were playing the game. It was another ridiculous part of Elliot’s work. No one could ever just come out and say what they wanted or why.
But no, a game was the wrong way to think about it. It was more like dancing. A complex style, dictated by culture and etiquette, the choreographed and synchronized movements well-rehearsed but spontaneously executed in response to the music, while both parties denied there was any music at all.
Elliot followed Kit’s lead.
“Unless?” he prompted.
Kit shook his head. “No… it was just another foolish musing, from a foolish old man.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”
“Well… in the course of your business dealings,” Kit said. He stopped himself, and waved a hand. “I have no doubts that you are a man of integrity, Volodya, you know that. But I believe we both suspect some of your connections to… certain parties, may indirectly bring you into relation with people of a lesser nature.”
