James Corey - Nemesis Games

Inside, a dozen small tables with real linen cloth crowded together. The air was thick with the scent of the local qahwa – almonds and cinnamon and sugar. Captain Holden had a thing for coffee, and Alex felt a moment’s regret that he was off on Tycho Station where he couldn’t smell this. Before he could finish the thought, Fermín boiled up out of his chair and wrapped his arms around him.

“Alex!” Fermín shouted. “Good God, man. You got fat.”

“No,” Alex said, returning the hug and then breaking it. “That was you.”

“Ah,” his old friend said, nodding. “Yes, that was me. I forgot. Sit down.”

The waiter, a young man of maybe eighteen, looked out from behind the kitchen door and his eyes widened. The smile pretended to be the customary politeness, but when he ducked back Alex could hear him talking to someone. He sounded excited. Alex tried not to feel awkward about that.

“Thanks for this,” Alex said. “I don’t like to be the guy who doesn’t keep in touch until he needs a favor.”

“And yet,” Fermín said. The years had turned his stubble gray and thickened his jowls. Alex felt like if he squinted, he could still see the sharp-faced man he’d served with hidden somewhere in him. It was easier to see him in his gestures when he waved Alex’s concern away. “It’s nothing. Happy to do a favor for a friend.”

The waiter came out of the kitchen, nodding. The wide-mouthed cup in his hand steamed. He put it in front of Alex almost shyly.

“Specialty of the house,” the boy said. “For you, Mr. Kamal.”

“Ah,” Alex said. “Thank you.”

The boy nodded again and retreated. Alex chuckled uncomfortably at the cup, and Fermín grinned. “Come on now. You’ve got to be used to this kind of thing, right? You’re Alex Kamal. First pilot through the Ring.”

“Naw, just the first one that lived.”

“Same thing.”

“And I surely didn’t want to be,” Alex said. “They were shooting at me.”

“And that makes it less romantic?”

Alex blew across the surface of the cup and sipped at it. Chai with honey and cardamom and something else he couldn’t quite place. “That trip was a lot of things,” he drawled. “Romantic wasn’t one of ’em. And usually since then I’ve had the captain around to soak up the attention.”

“Probably different elsewhere. But you’re a local boy. One of us who got out and made good.”

“Is that what happened?”

Fermín spread his hands, the gesture taking in the teahouse, the corridor outside, Hecate Base, and Mars. “I’ve been here the whole damned time. Made it as far as chief petty officer. Two divorces and a kid in upper university calls me twice a year to borrow money.”

“Bet you had fewer people shooting at you, though. It’s not as much fun as you make it sound.”

“Suppose not,” Fermín said. “Grass is always greener.”

For an hour, more or less, they sat drinking chai and eating almond cookies – though fewer of those than they had when they’d been younger. Fermín brought him up to speed on half a dozen of the others that they’d known in common back in the day. The chai was good and Fermín jovial. It was hard to say what it was exactly that left Alex melancholy. When the time came to leave, the boy wouldn’t take their money. He just said “On the house” when they tried.

The checkpoint into the base proper was manned by a security team that had Fermín glance into a facial recognition setup. Once he cleared, they checked Alex for weapons and contraband and issued him a visitor pass. The process was less than five minutes, and leisurely at that. Alex followed Fermín to a moving walkway and leaned against the rail with him as it drew them forward, deeper into Olympus Mons.

“So this guy,” Alex said.

“Commander Duarte? You’ll like him. Everyone likes him. Admiral Long’s aide. Has been for the last ten years.”

“Long hasn’t retired?”

“She’ll die at her desk,” Fermín said. He sounded just on the edge of resentful, but his smile covered whatever it was over.

“I appreciate you setting this up.”

“Not a problem. Duarte was excited to meet you.”

“Really?”

“Why the surprise? You’re pilot of the Rocinante . You’re famous.”

Winston Duarte’s office was plain and comfortable. The desk was simple pressed polycarbonate, a little larger maybe than the receptionist’s in the lobby. The screen on the wall was set to a calm semi-abstract piece that flowed in sepia and brown, evoking fallen leaves and mathematical proofs in roughly equal proportions. The only touch of luxury was a shelf of what appeared to be actual printed books on military strategy. The man himself fit in the space like he’d been designed for it. Half a head shorter than Alex with acne-pocked cheeks and warm brown eyes, Duarte radiated politeness and competence. After they shook hands, he took the seat beside Alex rather than cross back behind his desk.

“I have to say I’m a little surprised at the visit,” Duarte said. “Most of my dealings with the OPA are formal.”

“The Roci ’s not OPA.”

Duarte’s eyebrows ticked up a millimeter. “Really?”

“We’re more of an independent contractor. We’ve taken jobs from the OPA, but Earth’s paid some of our bills. Private companies too, if the job’s a good fit.”

“I stand corrected. All the same, I’m honored. What can I do for you, Mr. Kamal?”

“Call me Alex for one thing. I’m not here officially. I mean, I’m on leave from the ship. Came back to the old stompin’ grounds for a visit, came across an old friend who needed a hand with something, and one thing led to another.”

“Which led you to me,” Duarte said. His smile was sudden and warm. “I’ll count myself lucky for that. What’s on your friend’s mind?”

“Missing ships.”

Duarte went still, his smile still perfectly in place. For a moment, it was like the man had become a statue. When he moved again, he sat back, leaning into the chair with a barely exaggerated casualness that plucked at Alex’s ears. “I’m not aware of any ships that have gone missing. Is there something I should know about?”

Alex folded his hands on his knee. “My friend. She’s a marine. Well, ex now. She’s been doing a little digging into the black market.”

“A journalist, then?”

“A patriotic Martian,” Alex said. “She’s not looking to stir up anything, and neither am I. But she’s found some things that got her back up.”

“Things like what?”

Alex lifted a finger. “I’ll get there in a minute. Thing is, she’s not Navy. Doesn’t have friends and contacts on our side. So she asked if I’d ask, and when I did —”

“Chief Petty Officer Beltran sent you to me,” Duarte said. “I see.”

“Did he make a mistake?”

Duarte was quiet for a long moment, his eyes soft and fixed on nothing. Alex shifted in his seat. These sorts of conversations weren’t part of his usual duties, and he couldn’t tell if it was going well or poorly. Duarte sighed. “No. He didn’t.”

“You’re… you’re seeing things too. Aren’t you?”

Duarte stood and moved to the door, not touching it, but looking. His head bent a degree. “This isn’t the sort of thing we talk about. I don’t break the chain of command.”

“I respect that,” Alex said. “I’m not asking you to be disloyal to anyone. Only I have some information, you maybe have some too. I’ll tell you what I’m comfortable sharing, you do the same. Maybe we can do each other some good.”

“I have an investigation in progress.”