Smuggler's Dilemma (31 page)

"Any idea where we're going?" I asked.

"No. I'd have thought when we entered the building it would allow us to register, but I'm not getting an interface," Nick said.

"Maybe we need to check in?" I nodded to an oval shaped counter, behind which stood two Marines in dark gray service uniforms, complete with sidearms.

"May I help you?" The taller of the two asked.

"We were summoned to a meeting, but we're not finding any instructions on where to go," I said.

"Are you sure you have the right building?" he asked.

"Pretty sure," I said.

"Perhaps I could look at your summons?" he asked.

"That won't be necessary."

I turned to see the approaching figure of Lieutenant Gregor Belcose. He was dressed in dark blue slacks and a neatly pressed, collared khaki shirt. I'd never seen him in anything but a uniform vac-suit. From my perspective, however, he might as well have been wearing a uniform. His bearing was all military.

"If you'd follow me," he said without pleasantries.

We followed him to a door on the atrium's back wall, one that my eye had skipped over previously. It wasn't specifically hidden, but was designed to blend in with the wall décor perfectly and was almost invisible.

"What's this about, Gregor?" I asked.

"Not yet," he said.

He led us down a hallway and ushered us into a service elevator. He held up a small disc and pressed it against the security panel. The elevator started dropping, but there was no indication of floor progression as we descended. Finally, the doors opened to an unadorned hallway. The floor and walls were made of cement and the lighting was bright and industrial. Wherever we were, it was obvious no one was trying to impress visitors.

We wound our way through a labyrinth of halls, finally ending up in front of a steel door. Gregor pressed his security disc onto a panel. The only indicator of success was a thunking sound and a centimeter of space at the jamb.

The room we entered was barren with the exception of a table and a crate sitting next to it. On the opposite side of the room was another door.

"What's going on, Gregor?" I asked. The room looked like an interrogation chamber from an old vid. It suddenly occurred to me that no one knew where we were or how to find us.

"One minute and we'll explain everything. Please place your weapons and communication devices in the crate," he said.

I was suspicious, but we complied. He placed the top on the crate and picked up a black wand that sat on the table.

"What's that about?" Nick asked.

"I'll tell you once we're done," Gregor said and looked at us for approval.

Nick shrugged, which Gregor took as a sign of assent. He swiped the wand up and down our bodies on all four sides. He spent extra time scanning my prosthetic foot, but in the end he was satisfied.

"This way," he said and walked to the far door. His disc once again provided entry.

This next room was much nicer than any we'd just walked through. It was carpeted and held a long, wood-grained table in the center. I was surprised to see Commander Sterra rise from her seated position at one end. A second man also stood as we approached. Unlike Belcose, Sterra and the stranger were wearing gray service uniforms. I'd learned to read the uniforms in the last several months and I was surprised to see the single silver-star on the man's collar. My eyes flitted quickly to his shoulder epaulettes and it confirmed that we were meeting with a rear admiral.

"Mr. James, Mr. Hoffen, welcome," Commander Sterra said. Her tone was formal but her smile was warm. "May I introduce you to Rear Admiral Brock 'Buckshot' Alderson?"

"Gentlemen," Admiral Alderson's deep voice filled the room. He stepped forward, holding his hand out.

I shook it. I'd never actually met an admiral before, so I might have been a little dumbstruck.

"Please, have a seat." He swept his hand over the table generously. "LaVonne, how about you get us started."

Curiously, I looked at Commander Sterra. Once, she'd confided in me that only friends used her first name. I couldn't read her face as to whether the address bothered her or not.

"Thank you, Admiral," she said. "Gregor, are we secure?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied curtly.

"Very well. First, let me apologize for the clandestine nature of this meeting. I'm obligated to inform you that Mars Protectorate considers the information we're about to share to be a secret at our highest level. Sharing what we're about to discuss with anyone outside of this room will be considered treason and will be prosecuted to the maximum extent of the law. You may leave now, if these terms are not acceptable to you," she said.

Nick stood up from the table. "Liam, I don't think we should be here."

I stood with him, surprised at his immediate reaction. Sterra nodded her head slightly in understanding.

Alderson put up his hands and said, "Hold on, gentlemen. I hate it when we lead with all that legal mumbo jumbo. The fact is Mars Protectorate needs your help and I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd listen to what the Commander here has to say. If you don't like it, you just need to keep it to yourselves."

Nick looked back to me. "Do you want to stay? So far, the only thing we're doing is placing ourselves at risk. There's no upside."

"Let's listen to what they have to say," I said.

"For the last five years, Mars Protectorate has been gathering intelligence on the rising threat of the Red Houzi," Sterra started. "Until recently, the clan has limited their attacks to hit and runs, never staying in a single location for more than a few hours. The raids that culminated in the battle for Colony 40 and the destruction of our rapid response fleet, show a substantial change in their stance. We believe that the entire series of attacks that began at Anaimalai and ended at Colony 40 were orchestrated for one purpose. Would either of you care to hazard a guess as to what that purpose was?"

"Simple. It was a trap," I said.

"That's right, Mr. Hoffen. It was a trap," Admiral Alderson said, unable to contain himself. "The bastards wanted to make the statement that they could wipe out a Mars Protectorate fleet. Once word spreads to the other colonies, widespread panic will ensue. We can't possibly defend all of the colonies at once, and we have nothing to strike back against. In short, aside from reacting, we don't have a move."

"How can we possibly help? You're the Navy," I said.

"That's precisely why you can help. Believe it or not, your crew has a reputation for getting the job done. Your work at Colony 40, Baru Manush and most recently Jeratorn, show you to be just the sort of people who can help us," he said.

As a born negotiator, I knew when someone was buttering me up and he was laying it on thick. Whatever they had in mind was going to be a doozy. I might as well move us along, so I took the bait.

"What do you have in mind?"

"On Jeratorn, our intelligence assets discovered that the Red Houzi have constructed a base. We currently believe it to be in the Trojan or possibly Greek asteroids of the main belt," he said.

He might as well have said he was looking for a grain of sand in either Coolidge or Puskar Stellar. The Trojans stretched out for a distance that was longer than the distance between the Sun and Jupiter.

"Those are some big regions," I said.

"That's true. But we believe we have an asset that knows exactly where they are located," Gregor said.

"If you know where they are, why wouldn't you form up a fleet with the North American, Chinese, Indians and every other space-borne country and go get 'em?" I asked.

"Well, that's the rub. This particular asset won't work with anyone but you," he said flatly.

My stomach sank. I could think of only one person he could be talking about.

"You can't trust her. She'd say anything to get out," I said.

"We don't believe that Xie Mie-su actually has any real intelligence. Most likely the information she has is old and the Red Houzi have moved on. The problem is we can't afford to leave any stone unturned," Alderson replied.

I was shaking my head. This was a bad idea. "Last time, she tried to kill us all. I don't see why we'd get involved in this, Admiral. I don't believe for a minute she's on the level."

"Commander Sterra anticipated that you'd feel this way. I don't suppose I could get you to do this as a matter of civic duty?" he asked.

Nick practically growled. He wasn't happy with any of this. "I think you used up all of our civic duty on Jeratorn."

"The way I hear it, you made out pretty well on that trip. You claimed a mostly operational frigate, if I recall," Alderson said.

"Respectfully, Admiral, we more than risked our lives on that job. And if
you'll
recall, Mars Intelligence substantially misrepresented what we'd be getting into when we agreed to it. If given the chance to do that again, I doubt we'd agree," Nick said.

"Tut, tut. I didn't mean to offend. I only meant to point out that your dealings with Mars Protectorate have been plenty profitable," he said.

"No profit is worth the life of any of our crew," Nick said.

"How about if you could avenge the death of your mother? Prevent others from losing their mothers?" Alderson asked.

This was over the top. "That's not fair. You can't put that on him."

"No? What if we could arrange to restore Cadet Master's left arm?" he said.

"What would you have us do?" Nick asked.

"Nick, no. Tabby would never accept that," I said.

Nick ignored me. "What's the mission?"

"It's straightforward. You sail to wherever Xie Mie-su directs, scan the area and let us know what you find. If you find the dreadnaught, contact us and stick around until we can scramble a fleet to take it down," Gregor said.

I crossed my arms and leaned forward. I didn't trust a one of them to be completely up front with us. "Why don't I think you're telling us everything?"

"It really is that simple," he said.

"And you'll agree to pay for Tabby's surgeries and regrow her arm?" Nick asked.

Alderson's eyes lit up. He smelled a deal. "Only if you locate the dreadnaught."

"You've admitted that you're sending us on a wild goose chase with a psychopath. There's no upside. Why would we do that?" I asked.

"Because I'll be revoking your Letter of Marque if you don't. Carrot and stick, Mr. Hoffen," Admiral Alderson said.

I sat back. I couldn't believe he'd stoop to this. Names that I would never say out loud swirled in my mind as I looked the man in the eyes.

"Our ship's armor was damaged in the battle and we've lost a good deal of our stealth capabilities. We need intellectual property for that armor," Nick said.

"Anything else?" Alderson asked.

Nick didn't miss a beat. "Supplies - ammo, fuel, that sort of thing."

"Done. You can work out the details with Lieutenant Belcose. I want you underway by the end of the week," Admiral Alderson said. As he rose, Sterra and Belcose stood with him. He walked out of the room without acknowledging us further.

"Liam, Nick, I'm sorry that we had to meet under these circumstances," Commander Sterra offered once Alderson left the room. "Off the record, I don't like what we're doing here. I think it lessens us all. I understand the urgency, but I can't escape the morality of horse trading on Tabby's misfortune to achieve our ends."

PRIMED AND READY

When I got to the hospital, Tabby was back in bed working with her prosthetic arm, trying to pick up a variety of objects on the sheet in front of her. The prosthetic wrist and fingers were clumsy, but she was making progress.

"How'd chair training go?" I asked.

"Patricia said I was doing really well. It's a lot like AGBs," she said.

"Can I see?"

"I need a lot of help getting into it. I'm not ready for you to see that," she said.

"We could go for pizza if you did."

She thought about it for a minute. "Okay, here's what I need you to do," she said.

The arc-jet chair was pretty straightforward. A custom fit L-shaped seat came just under her bottom and two straps held her chest firmly to the chair. There were no arm-rests and she controlled the flight with both vocal commands as well as gestures she'd been working out with troll breath. Currently, she only had the basic commands, one of which was to maintain a level flight and orient her body next to another person.

"We take a lot of things for granted when we walk with other people. For example, when you are in a hallway and there's not enough room, we compress into single file or even turn sideways slightly. It's all very natural for us. The problem is, you need to anticipate these things when you're in a chair," Tabby explained.

"You're doing really well. I'm not even thinking about it," I said. "I'm not sure why they call it a chair, though."

"You'll see," she said.

"Megliano's?"

"What?"

"That pizza place I took you to last time," I said.

"I don't know, it's a lot of people. Could we stay in Coolidge?" she asked. It made sense. There would be a lot of military types in Coolidge and they wouldn't think twice about a veteran in an arc-jet chair.

"We have to walk," I said. The cool air of Mars had me pulling my gloves on, but I'd grown to appreciate breathing the non-mechanically processed air of the planet.

Find nearby restaurants
, Tabby instructed. "What's Mexican?" she asked.

"Provence of the North American Alliance," I said.

"Not where. I said what?" she retorted.

"No idea. Let's do it."

The arc-jet chair settled easily into the restaurant's chair. Small legs extended from the arc-jet chair, locked to the back of the seat and allowed Tabby to sit in a normal position. I helped slide her into the table.

We discovered that our favorite part of Mexican food was the margaritas. It's not that the food wasn't good, it's just that the drinks came first. By the time the food arrived, neither of us was in any position to taste anything.