James Corey - Nemesis Games

“Anything I give you, I don’t mind your passing on,” Alex said. “And maybe it’d be best if it was like that for you too.”

Duarte considered, his lips pressing together. “All right. What have you got?”

“Blips in the inventories. Things that got lost or destroyed that showed up again later. Weapons. Medical supplies.”

“Ships?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “Ships.”

“Give me a name.”

“ Apalala .”

Duarte seemed to deflate. He went to his desk and sank into the chair behind it, but when he spoke, his voice had a relaxed tone that made Alex feel like he’d passed a test. Like the false and cordial ease that had begun the meeting had fallen away like a mask.

“That’s one I’ve been looking at too,” Duarte said.

“What are you seeing?”

“I don’t know. Not exactly. We’re stretched thin. You know that?”

“People heading out for the new planets.”

“Inventories are running slow. I think more of them are being dry-labbed than anyone wants to admit. I’ve been trying to convince the admiral that it’s a problem, but either she doesn’t understand or…”

“Or?”

Duarte didn’t finish his thought. “There has been a pattern of attacks too. They may be political or it may just be theft and piracy. You heard about the attack on Callisto?”

“Heard about it.”

“Have you come across anything about it particularly?”

“No.”

Duarte clenched his jaw in disappointment. “There was something about that one that bothers me, but I can’t put my finger on it. The timing was precise. The attack was well coordinated. And for what? To loot a shipyard?”

“What did they take?”

Duarte’s gaze clicked onto Alex. His smile was sorrowful. “I don’t know. Nobody knows. I think nobody will ever know, because I can’t even figure out what was there. That’s how bad it is.”

Alex scowled. “You’re telling me that the Martian Navy doesn’t know where its own ships are?”

“I’m telling you that the tracking of supplies, ships, and material has all but collapsed. We don’t know what’s missing because we don’t know . And I’m telling you that the leadership is so focused on trying not to lose face in front of Earth and the OPA that they’re downplaying it.”

“Covering it up.”

“Downplaying it,” Duarte said. “Prime Minister Smith is making a big show right now of taking a convoy to Luna to meet with the UN secretary-general and swearing that everything’s fine, and he’s doing that because it isn’t true. If I were a criminal and a black marketer, all this would look like a permanent Christmas.”

Alex said something obscene. Duarte opened his desk and took out a pad of paper and a silver pen. He wrote for a moment, then tore off the sheet and handed it across the desk. In precise, legible handwriting he’d written KAARLO HENDERSON-CHARLES and an address in base housing. The act of physically writing something down, not trusting the information to electronic transfer, felt like either sensible precaution or paranoia. Alex wasn’t sure which.

“While you’re here, I’d recommend talking to Kaarlo. He’s a senior programmer that’s been working on a project that was supposed to coordinate the databases. He was the one who came to me first to say he was seeing problems. If you have specific questions, he may be able to give you answers. Or he may be able to point you to where they are.”

“Will he help me?”

“He may,” Duarte said. “I did.”

“Could you… give him cover?”

“No,” Duarte said, with his sad smile. “I’m not ordering anyone to do anything with you. No offense. You’re not Navy anymore. Whatever we do, you and I, we do as part of my investigation. And I report all of it, down to the letter, to the admiral.”

“Covering your ass.”

“Hell yes,” Duarte said. “You should do the same.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex said.

Fermín wasn’t in the waiting area when he left, so Alex went out and caught one of the moving walkways heading east, toward base housing. His head felt a little light, like he’d been running the oxygen too lean for too long.

The Navy had always been the thing in his life that didn’t change. The permanent factor. His relationship to it might shift. He did his tours, he mustered out, but those changes were all about him. His life, his fragility and mortality and impermanence. The idea that the Navy itself could be fragile, that the government of Mars might stumble or collapse, was like saying the sun might go out. If that wasn’t solid, then nothing was.

So maybe nothing was.

Kaarlo Henderson-Charles’ hole was in a stretch of a hundred just like it, spare and spartan. There was nothing on the gray-green door to identify it beyond numbers. No flowers in the planter, only dry soil. Alex rang the bell. When he knocked, the door opened under his knuckles. He heard someone grumbling angrily under their breath. No. Not a person. The recyclers on high, scrubbing the air. He caught a whiff of cordite and something like rotten meat.

The body was on the kitchen table in its uniform jumper. The blood had pooled under the chair and spattered along the wall and ceiling. A pistol still hung in the limp right hand. Alex coughed out a laugh of mixed disbelief and despair, then he pulled out his hand terminal and called the MPs.

“Then what happened?” Bobbie asked.

“What do you think? The MPs came.”

The hotel lobby was decorated in crimson and gold. A wall fountain burbled and chuckled beside the couches, giving the two of them something like privacy. Alex sipped at his gin and tonic. The alcohol bit a little. Bobbie pressed her knuckles against her lips and scowled. She was looking solid for any other person who’d been tortured and shot, but still a little fragile for Bobbie. The bandages that covered bullet wounds on her left side made an awkward bump under her blouse, but nothing more.

“They questioned you?” she said, barely even making it a question.

“For about eight hours. Duarte was able to give me a solid alibi, though, so I’m not in prison.”

“Small favors. And your friend? Fermín?”

“Apparently his terminal’s not on the network. I don’t know if he killed the guy or if whoever killed the guy killed him or… anything. I don’t know anything.” He drank again, more deeply this time. “I may not be good at this whole investigation thing.”

“I’m not much better,” Bobbie said. “Mostly I’ve just been shaking the trees and seeing what falls out. So far the only thing I’m really sure about is that something’s going on.”

“And that people are willing to kill each other over it,” Alex said.

“And now that the MPs are involved, they’re going to lock down the investigation like it was fissionable. I’m not going to be able to do a damned thing.”

“Amateur detective hour does seem to be pretty much over,” Alex agreed. “I mean, I can still ask around.”

“You did more than enough,” Bobbie said. “I shouldn’t have gotten you into this in the first place. I just don’t like disappointing the old lady.”

“I can respect that. But I do kind of wish I knew what was going on.”

“Me too.”

Alex finished his drink, the ice clicking against his teeth. He had a pleasant warmth in his belly. He looked at Bobbie, saw her looking back at him.

“You know,” he said slowly, “just because everything’s shut down here, it doesn’t mean everything’s shut down everywhere.”

Bobbie blinked. Her shrug was noncommittal, but there was a gleam in her eyes. “You’re thinking about that backwater asteroid Holden was asking about?”