Outriders (41 page)

“Doesn’t look particularly lived in,” Mike said.

“Yeah.”

They continued down the passageway, giving each compartment a cursory check, before heading to the deck below. And that was a different story.

The passageway was wider, the staterooms gone. And here and there along the sides were a number of large, sleek containers; wider than tall, and rounded, like cylinders that had been compressed.

“You guys come through this way before?” Lincoln asked.

“Negative,” Mike said. “We came through the top, down the centerline. This is all new to me.”

“I don’t think I like the look of this too much.”

“Yeah, not so much.”

Lincoln flipped through his suit’s sensor filters, scanning for the usual signs of threats. The canisters didn’t appear to be giving off any sinister signatures. Even so, there was something unsettling about the arrangement; a bizarre puzzle that clearly had meaning, but the meaning escaped any simple analysis.

“All right,” Mike said. “Hang back. I’m gonna check it out.”

“Hold up,” Lincoln said.

“Nah, you got the good brains,” Mike said. “Better keep ’em at a safe distance, just in case.”

Lincoln was about to protest, but Mike was already advancing down the passageway with careful steps and weapon raised. Lincoln kept him covered, even though he wasn’t sure what he was trying to keep him covered from.

Mike approached the first canister, eight meters down the passageway, and cautiously knelt by it. He went still for a minute or so. Running deep, close-range scans with his suit’s sensor array, no doubt, trying to determine the contents of the container without having to open it up. And then, finally, he spoke.

“Good God,” he said.

And he turned and looked at Lincoln.

“Lincoln. There are people in here.”

TWENTY-THREE

“
H
AVOC
L
EAD COPIES
W
HIPLASH
,” Lieutenant Colonel Will Barton said. “Send your traffic.”

“Havoc Lead, we’ve just received orders to withdraw immediately,” the communications officer responded. “We are to return to station at Point Artemis.”

The order came as a surprise to Will, lead pilot for Whiplash’s escort element. His wing had been assigned to provide protection to the Corsair-class ship, far forward of the main UAF-led fleet. Whiplash was a deep reconnaissance vessel, pulling double duty in this case thanks to its low signature as a launch craft for a special operations delivery vehicle. The Lamprey had gone out a few hours before, and as far as Will knew, it hadn’t come back yet.

“Say again, Whiplash,” Will said. “Did you say you’ve got orders to pull out?”

“That’s affirmative, Havoc Lead. We’re withdrawing to Point Artemis, effective immediately.”

Point Artemis was an arbitrary point in space; a rally point for one component of the Terran fleet that had been moved into position to monitor CMA Naval maneuvers. Whiplash and its escort weren’t in Martian territory yet, but they were far enough forward of the rest of the fleet that it’d be hard to convince any CMA vessels that they weren’t up to something. Will was all for heading back in before anybody noticed they were out this far.

“Roger that, Whiplash,” he said. “I didn’t see Lamprey come back in, I must have missed it.”

“Uh… that’s a negative Havoc Lead,” the comms officer said. “We have not linked up with the Lamprey.”

“Then why are we withdrawing?”

“That’s… that’s under discussion at the moment. But apparently the mission was unauthorized.”

“What do you mean
unauthorized
?” Will asked. “We wouldn’t have launched if it hadn’t been authorized.”

The comms officer apparently wasn’t in the mood. His professionalism slipped.

“Well,” he said, “then it’s been de-authorized. I don’t know man, we’re just following orders here. We’re prepping to change course and return to Point Artemis as directed.”

“What about the team you just inserted? You talk to them yet?”

“Negative, they’re on radio silence.”

“So… how are they going to know who to call when they’re clear, then?”

“I’m sure they’ve got another solution worked out. Another ship or whatever. Different approach vector, probably.”

“You’re sure because Command told you that?”

“No, Havoc Lead, I’m sure because we wouldn’t just leave our people stranded,” the officer answered. “Look, I’ve got other lines to work here. We’ll be pulling out in five mikes, stand by and be prepared to maintain relative position off starboard on the return trip. Whiplash, out.”

“Five mikes, copy that, Whiplash,” Will answered. He switched over to wing communications. “Havoc Two, you copy all that?”

“Roger, Havoc Lead,” his wingman answered. “Five mikes, we’ll hold off starboard on the return.”

“Negative, Havoc Two. I want you to hold position until further notice.”

“Uh…” the other pilot said. “OK, copy, Havoc Lead, we’ll hold for your call.”

Will closed the external channel, leaving open only the internal one to his weapons officer, seated behind him. Major Noah Barton, who also happened to be his little brother.

“Hey, Bear,” he said. “Any of that sound right to you?”

“No, buddy, it does not.”

Will checked the tactical scanner display, but nothing concerning showed up. No imminent threats that he could see.

“You got anything on the scopes back there?” he asked.

“Negative,” Noah answered.

Will shifted in his seat, rolled his head around to loosen up his neck. It was possible that another ship had been assigned to take over for Whiplash, but it seemed unlikely that UAF would risk having
two
ships this far out, especially since that meant putting additional escorts in harm’s way as well. Maybe CMA had intercepted the Lamprey. That seemed like the kind of thing that Whiplash would have communicated though. Something just wasn’t sitting right.

“Do me a favor and get a line open back to Command, would you?”

“Sure thing,” Noah said.

A breach of protocol, and poor etiquette. Whiplash was technically running the show; as escort, Havoc element was subordinate. But, Will decided, the crew would get over it. And even if they didn’t, it was worth the friction to double-check that there wasn’t a ball being dropped somewhere along the line. Will didn’t know who’d gone out on that Lamprey, but he knew whoever they were, they were brothers and sisters-in-arms. He didn’t have any intention of leaving until he was absolutely certain they had a way to get back home.

“
S
IGNATURE READS
as a
Mako-
class cruiser, captain,” the tactical officer reported. “At current velocity and bearing, it will cross into protected space in two hours, ninety minutes.”

Commodore Liao let the words sink in for a moment before she responded. What was that vessel up to out there? Tensions were already high, with the Terran fleet holding off just out of striking distance. Was this an initial probing attack? Or did they just think they could slip a vessel by, while everyone’s attention was focused on the main body? Were they trying to provoke a response, looking for an excuse to bring their fleet in? Or was this a taunt?

“Captain?”

Liao didn’t want to start a war. But she wasn’t going to stand by and let the UAF dictate the course of events, either.

“Helmsman,” she said. “Plot an intercept course. Coordinate with tactical to follow trajectory, and correct as necessary.”

“Plot to intercept, aye, captain,” the lieutenant answered.

“Communications,” Liao continued, “inform Higher Command that
Relentless
is moving position as response to possible contact.”

“Aye, captain.”

The
Mako
didn’t appear to be doing anything to mask its approach. That likely meant they were either doing something completely benign, or that there was some deep treachery underway. There didn’t seem to be any middle ground.

“Course laid in, captain.”

“Very good, helm. Take us on.”

“Aye, captain.”

Whatever the cruiser was up to,
Relentless
would be the first ship it met. And, depending on how the next few hours unfolded, possibly the last.

L
INCOLN HAD JOINED
Mike next to one of the canisters, bewildered by the discovery. They hadn’t checked all of the containers in the passageway, but the handful that they’d scanned all showed the same. Each one held at least one person; in some cases, two. An adult with a child.

“You think they’re in stasis?” Mike asked. He’d opened his faceplate once they’d confirmed the passageway was clear, and his expression showed he was as unsettled as Lincoln was about their finding.

“Hard to say,” Lincoln answered. “Stasis, or maybe already dead and on ice. Either way, this is all real creepy.”

“I’m gonna see if I can get one open,” Mike said. “Be a lot easier to tell once we can take a look inside.”

“I don’t know, Mike. This seems one of those things better left to the experts.”

“Well, sure. All right, tell you what. I’ll work on it for now, and then when they get here, I’ll let them take over, how about that?”

Lincoln looked at the canister, and the simple panel on the front. He didn’t like it, but Mike’s point was well taken. If there was anything to discover here, they were the only ones to do it.

“All right, Mike. But be careful. You see anything you don’t like, leave it alone.”

“Roger that,” Mike said. He knelt down in front of the canister’s panel and started to work. Lincoln stood by, watching for a few moments until Mike said, “I know I’m pretty, captain, but you don’t have to stare.”

Lincoln chuckled and took the hint.

“I’m going to walk to the far end of the passageway, get a count,” he said. “Let me know when you get it.”

“Yep.”

Lincoln moved further down the passage, stopping briefly beside each canister to let the suit run its scan. By the time he’d counted seventeen individuals, Thumper’s earlier mention of multiple manifests sprang back to mind.

“Hey Mike,” he said over direct comms. “Want to make a guess about how many people we’ve got down here?”

“Closest buys the beer when we get home?” Mike said.

Lincoln chuckled. He wasn’t sure Mike had been paying attention to anything Thumper had said earlier.

“OK, sure.”

“All right, I’ll say forty,” Mike said. “No, forty-five. I’ll say forty-five. What’s your guess?”

“Fifty-seven,” Lincoln said.

“Pretty specific.”

“I like to be precise.”

“Hope you like to buy beer, too.”

“Uh, Lincoln?” Thumper said, cutting in over the team channel. Lincoln switched to team comms.

“Yeah, go ahead, Thumper,” he answered.

“I cracked the communications log,” she said. “Want to guess who they talked to last?”

“Just tell me.”

“It was a CMA vessel. The
Relentless
.”

Lincoln’s mind leapt forward from those words. Were these people all CMA military? A special unit like Lincoln’s, working some black operation? If so, this could be the definitive proof they’d been looking for. Confirmation that CMA was waging a shadow war, laying the groundwork for future conflict.

“Can you pull the feed?” he asked.

“Yeah I did, it’s all just chatter, but that’s not the important part. They exchanged ship credentials, authorization information,” she said. Lincoln didn’t respond immediately, still thinking through the implications of CMA involvement. Maybe Mr Self had been right after all. After a moment, Thumper spelled it out for him. “The handshake, Lincoln. Prakoso’s code.”

And now Lincoln’s thoughts wrenched the other direction. They hadn’t been working
with
the CMA vessel. They’d just infected it with Prakoso’s injection attack.

“We’re coming back up,” he said. He turned around and headed back towards Mike. Whatever was going on with the canisters could wait. “Hey Mike, we need to head back up to the bridge.”

“All right, yeah, one sec,” Mike said. “I’ve almost got–”

He was cut off by a loud pop, and he toppled over backwards from the container.

“Whoa, Mike, you all right?” Lincoln said. Mike didn’t answer. He didn’t even stir. And Lincoln felt a coldness hollow him out. “Mike!” he called, and he ran to his teammate.

“Sahil, I need you, now!” Lincoln called through comms. “Mike’s hit!”

“What?” Sahil said. “Hit by what?”

“Now, now, now!” Lincoln repeated. There wasn’t time to explain. He dropped to his knees next to Mike. The front of Mike’s armor was pockmarked around the neck and shoulders with divots that looked like someone had pressed fingertips into clay. But there was a hole through his visor, low and near the left side. Mike’s eyes were wide, his mouth, open. His jaw, working like he was trying to say something, was spattered on one side with blood.

“Hang on, Mike,” Lincoln said. “Hang on, we got you.”

Lincoln scrambled around, trying to get a view of a wound, but there was nothing he could find. All the damage was on the front as far as he could tell, and it didn’t seem like the suit had been penetrated.

A loud and heavy thump signaled Sahil’s arrival on deck; he’d leapt down through the hatch, and was now sprinting towards his fallen teammate, trauma kit already in hand.

“What happened, what’s he got?” Sahil asked, sliding to his knees next to Mike.

“I don’t know, some kind of countermeasure on that thing,” Lincoln said, pointing at the canister. “It popped, he fell. Suit’s intact, but it breached his visor.”

“Hang on, Mikey,” Sahil said, doing a rapid assessment of his own. And then, to Lincoln. “We’re gonna have to get this helmet off.” They worked together quickly to override the security protocol and unseal Mike’s helmet from its attachment point.

As soon as they did, blood poured out onto the deck behind Mike’s head.

Sahil pulled the helmet off and tossed it aside, and Lincoln’s first thought was that there wasn’t going to be anything they could do. Blood pumped from a hole on the left side of Mike’s neck, just next to his Adam’s apple. A ragged exit wound tore through the back side, on the right. He’d taken damage to his jaw as well.