Part 17 (2/2)
Fermin spread his hands, the gesture taking in the teahouse, the corridor outside, Hecate Base, and Mars. ”I've been here the whole d.a.m.ned 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,” Fermin said. ”Gra.s.s 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. Fermin 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 Fermin 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 Fermin glance into a facial recognition setup. Once he cleared, they checked Alex for weapons and contraband and issued him a visitor pa.s.s. The process was less than five minutes, and leisurely at that. Alex followed Fermin 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,” Fermin 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 s.p.a.ce 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 s.h.i.+p. 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 s.h.i.+ps.”
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 s.h.i.+ps 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 s.h.i.+fted 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.”
”Anything I give you, I don't mind your pa.s.sing 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.”
”s.h.i.+ps?”
”Yeah,” Alex said. ”s.h.i.+ps.”
”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 pa.s.sed 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.”
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