Outriders (46 page)

“Get me a line to Mr Self.”

“
C
APTAIN
,” Mr Self said. He looked tired, even more so than usual. “I don’t suppose you’re calling to wish me a happy birthday by chance?”

Lincoln didn’t waste any time.

“Tell me about Operation Hunter Janes.”

The blink told Lincoln everything he needed to know, before Self’s mask fell into place.

“I’m uh…” Self said. “I can’t say I’m familiar with that particular topic, I’m afraid.”

“Really? Huh. That surprises me. Seems like you’d remember something that had your name all over it.”

“I’m not sure what you think you’ve found–”

“Let’s not play this game, Self. We’re both professionals. It’s beneath us.”

Self looked down at his hands, tugged on the cuffs of his shirt sleeves. He scratched his nose.

“I don’t know why you think any of this matters, captain,” he said finally. “But Operation Hunter Janes was what held the United American Federation together in its darkest, most vulnerable days.”

“Saving the world, huh?”

“Something like. You’re probably too young to remember the early years, after the Americas united. You almost certainly don’t know what those years were really like.”

The mention of those days brought memories of Royal Warden to mind. The Honduran Defense Force. The Sino-Russian Confederacy.

“I’m far more familiar with it than you might expect,” Lincoln said.

“Oh? Then maybe you understand that for much of that time, UAF was on the verge of fracturing and turning back on itself. The Eastern Coalition… they were just the Confederacy back then. And they were in their glory days, penetrating agencies left and right, winning the propaganda war. Canada, the United States, Brazil, Peru… from the North Pole to the South we were supposed to be united. We had a common enemy, but no one wanted to admit it. No one could see it. So we helped focus their attention. Provided a more immediate threat.”

“You
created
an armed radical group on American soil, and turned them loose. And then built a false trail leading straight back to the Confederacy.”

“No,” Self said. “No, captain. The trail was already there. We merely highlighted it for others to see.”

Lincoln couldn’t chase the memories of Royal Warden from his mind. There was no proof of any connection, no reason to believe that that terrible mission had been at all related to anything under Operation Hunter Janes. But he couldn’t shake the idea that his path had crossed Mr Self’s before, the thought that this was not the first time their work had overlapped.

“You can’t build unity on a foundation of lies,” Lincoln said.

“And yet, the UAF exists,” Self answered. “Stronger now than it’s ever been. I don’t want to get into a philosophical debate with you, captain. And I certainly don’t feel the need to justify myself. I find it difficult to believe that you’ve operated as long as you have and are still capable of thinking about the world in such terms of black and white.”

“Well, I find it hard to accept that you feel no responsibility for Henry’s death, or LOCKSTEP’s destruction, or any of the rest of the trail of carnage that leads right back to your door.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“I wouldn’t say so. Not when the woman directing all those attacks was NID trained.”

Mr Self blinked again, the same almost-flinch he’d given when Lincoln had first mentioned Operation Hunter Janes.

“Amanda Flood. Or should I call her Joana Cardoso? Nakia Taleb?”

“I assure you that’s impossible, captain. That woman is dead, and has been for a long time.”

“You sound certain.”

“I oversaw the strike myself. I’m sure I could find the footage for you to review yourself, if it hasn’t been completely destroyed.”

“Then, would you like to offer an explanation for how she ended up in the Martian People’s Collective Republic?”

Mr Self rubbed an eye with his fingertip, seemed lost in reflection for a few moments. Then he smiled to himself.

“Amanda wasn’t NID trained,” Self said. “She was just a quick study. Had a natural talent for the work. I never knew her personally, of course. Few of us did. But we did have a hand in getting her connected to the right groups, nudged her towards radicalization. We’d identified her early, helped her get picked up. She was our mole, without her knowledge or consent. Turns out we’d won the lottery with her. She advanced quickly, and ended up becoming a highly effective operative for the group. The fact that the Directorate had her under observation from the very beginning made it that much easier on us when it came to shut it down.”

“I lost a man on this,” Lincoln said. “Chasing down your mess.” After he said it, he remembered that first team briefing, when Thumper had made the comment about betting this was another “NID bag”.

“And I distinctly remember telling you to stand down, captain,” Self said. “Besides, you didn’t lose anybody. I thought that was the whole point of you guys.”

He said it almost dismissively. As if their deaths didn’t count, somehow, weren’t part of the equation. And the way he said it made a connection in Lincoln’s mind, one that he hadn’t even realized his subconscious had been working on. Why had Whiplash been recalled? And who had been in charge, calling the shots, making those decisions?

“You left us out there to die.”

“That would have been an easy way to get you back home, wouldn’t it?” As far as Self was concerned, the only thing they would have lost was whatever hard evidence there was on that ship. “The thing you don’t seem to be able to grasp, captain, is that it doesn’t matter, at this stage. Too many things are in motion. Whether CMA was involved with LOCKSTEP or not, all of the actions they’ve taken since then have revealed their intentions anyway. You’ve seen for yourself how they’ve responded. Hostility at every turn. Whatever you found on that ship, or whatever you think you have left to find, would just muddy the waters. Ultimately no one cares. Read your Aeschylus,” he said, obliquely referencing, Lincoln guessed, the famous quote about truth being the first casualty of war. “I don’t know why you keep acting like you or I have any power in this. I didn’t make the decision to leave you out there. No one did, really. The situation did. The machine did. There’s not some big conspiracy against you, captain. No shadowy cabal that knows everything and is pulling the strings of the world.”

“We’re going to finish this,” Lincoln said. “Whether you have the courage to do it or not.”

“Go, or don’t. I don’t know what you think you’ll find. Or why you would think it would matter. It would be an aside, a footnote, an entry in your diary. Nothing more. I don’t know why you believe it’d be worth risking the lives of your fellow soldiers for that.”

Lincoln didn’t know what more to say.

“I’m not evil, captain,” Self said. “Just experienced. I’ll do you the courtesy of pretending I have no idea what you’re planning to do. But I strongly urge you to make certain that whatever it is, doesn’t end up kicking off the very war you’re trying so desperately to prevent.”

Mr Self closed the connection then, leaving Lincoln to wrestle alone with his thoughts. What was he after, really? Truth? Justice? Some sort of redemption? Or was it just his need to see a job through to the end?

In the end, he came to the conclusion that it didn’t really matter what his motivation was. Maybe Self was right, and the machine was too big to control. But as long as Lincoln was alive, he would do his part to serve the nation he’d sworn to protect. An enemy was out there, an enemy he had the knowledge of and means to confront. And confront her, he would.

TWENTY-FIVE

“
B
ECAUSE IT’S RIGHT
in the middle of the Martian People’s Collective Republic,” Wright said. “I thought we were trying to
prevent
war with the Martians. I can’t think of a better way to guarantee one than to go invading the Collective.”

“We can’t just leave her there,” Lincoln said. “You’ve read the file. She’s a planner. There’s no way this would be the end for her. She lost her ship, lost a team, sure. Who knows what else she has going on.”

“I’m with the cap’n on this,” Sahil said. “Sorry, mas’sarnt.”

“I’m in too,” Thumper said. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, knowing we had a chance at her and we let it get away. Gotta do the good we can, right?”

“The thing I don’t know about,” Lincoln said. “Is how we’re going to get there, and out again.”

“If you jokers are dead set on it,” Wright said. “Then we can do it.”

“You gonna fly us in yourself, Mir?” Sahil asked.

“No,” she said. “But I know a guy.”

T
HE HOP
where they met wasn’t in quite as bad a shape as Flashtown, but it wasn’t exactly the most well-kept station Lincoln had ever seen. The passageways all had a strange yellow tint that seemed to be less decorative and more a sign that the air recyclers were in dire need of maintenance. It was just an outpost, intended for not much more than a refueling point or place for quick repairs. For some reason, though, it appeared that it’d become something of a party town, or a place where extralegal activities were, if not invited, at least unremarked upon.

“Wright,” Lincoln said. “Please tell me these guys aren’t pirates.”

“I definitely wouldn’t say that to
them
,” Wright answered. “They work in salvage. I wouldn’t ask too many questions about that, though.”

Wright had made Sahil and Thumper wait in dock, still aboard the shuttle that brought them in. It wasn’t clear if it was because she didn’t want too many people talking business, or because she wanted to make sure they could get out fast if they needed to. Both, maybe.

“And how do you know these people again?”

“I don’t think the history of my romantic life is any of your concern, captain,” she said, answering the question without answering it. “Here we go.” She pointed to a bar. Even the front door was greasy. “They’ll probably offer you a chair, but I recommend you stand. And do
not
drink anything in here.”

They stepped inside, and the thick haze made Lincoln want to immediately step right back out. Wright marched with purpose, though, and Lincoln didn’t dare let her get too far away. The place was packed, music was loud, and nobody seemed to pay any attention to them passing through. Not even enough to avoid bumping into them, which several patrons did, repeatedly.

There were three people sitting at a corner table near the back, about as far away from the music as they could get, without straying too far from the bar. One man and two women. The man and one of the women stood up when they saw Wright approaching, both with welcoming smiles. The other woman, small and leathery faced, kept her seat and stared at them hard, with eyes like a rodent’s.

“Hey hey hey,” the man said. “Little Meer-meer. How you livin’, girly?” He held out his arms as if he was expecting Wright to give him a greeting hug. He was disappointed.

“Same as ever, Uncle H,” she answered. “Good livin’, every day.”

“That’s what I like to hear! Who’s the pretty boy?”

“Just some guy,” Wright said.

“Oh… all right then. Well, welcome, some guy. Grab a seat, get comfortable.”

“I’ll stand,” Lincoln said. “Thanks.”

“Oh. All right,” Uncle H replied, and he sat back down. “Drinks?”

“We’re good,” Wright said. And then she turned to Lincoln and pointed to each person in turn. “This is Uncle H, Baby Vegas, and this here,” she said, pointing at the little woman, “is Mad Ethel.”

Baby Vegas was taller than Uncle H, and she stretched a long arm across the table and shook Lincoln’s hand. Mad Ethel just sat there.

“When H said you’d called,” Baby Vegas said to Wright, “I thought he was kidding around. I didn’t know you still knew where to find us.”

“Yeah, I know it’s been a while,” Wright said. “I’ve been uh… been pretty busy.”

“Always are,” Baby Vegas said, and she smiled, but there seemed to be some sadness there.

“YEHH!” the little woman screamed, without warning or obvious provocation. Uncle H punched her in the shoulder.

“Settle down, Ethel!” he yelled. “Sorry, don’t mind Ethel. She just does that to people she likes. Well, cut to the chase, Mir. I assume you ain’t just here for chats.”

“I need a ride, H,” she said. “Probably a bumpy one.”

“Huh. Business or pleasure?”

“Business. But unofficial.”

“Huh. How unofficial?”

“I’m talking to you, Uncle H.”

“Ahhh, yeah. Got it. Where we headed?”

Wright looked at Lincoln. He gave her a nod.

“Rocknest.”

“Rocknest?” Uncle H said. “The Collective?”

Wright nodded. His expression changed, and he flashed a look at Baby Vegas. Baby Vegas held up a hand, waggled it back and forth.

“Definitely bumpy,” Baby Vegas said. “What’s the cargo?”

“Passengers, mostly,” Wright answered. “Four on the way in. Between four and five on the way out, depending on how it goes.”

“Better be four
or
five,” Baby Vegas replied. “With people, I don’t do halfsies.”

“Gear?” Uncle H said.

“We packed light,” Wright said. “But what we packed is heavy.”

“You’re not gonna get my ship shot up, are you Mir?” he asked.

“
I’m
not, H. I’m hoping you won’t either.”

“Yeah, well. You caught us at a good time. Been thinking about cruising the Martian scene a bit anyway. I don’t think we can do it for free, though.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Wright said. “What’s your price?”

Uncle H made a show of thinking about it, then flashed a toothy grin. “Couple of dates with me?”

“Too steep,” Wright said.

“I’ll run the numbers,” Baby Vegas said. “And get back to you. But I’ll give you the friend discount.”

“But you’ll do it?”

“You don’t want to know the cost first?”

“It’s gotta be done,” Wright answered.

“We’ll do it, Mir,” Uncle H said. “But we got a business to run. Out and back, nothing funny in the middle.”

“That’s all we need, H.”

“How soon did you want to get underway?” Baby Vegas asked.