Outriders (48 page)

“Oh, are you?” Amanda said. “It looks to me like you’ve come to deliver that justice yourself. Or, what you believe is justice.”

She was completely calm, completely at ease. And seeing how she held herself, so poised, so confident, Vector’s words came back to Lincoln then. About how no matter how cornered he thought he had her, she’d find a way out. Lincoln had thought it was just the nonsense of a fanatic at the time. But now, given her demeanor, he couldn’t help but think he was overlooking something.

“And what would justice be?” she asked. “What crime have I committed?”

“The murder of hundreds of innocents is a pretty good start,” Lincoln said. Wright and Thumper both checked in, reporting all clear, but Lincoln barely heard them.

“You fight for a nation that has killed a thousand times more,” the woman said. “A million times. What is it that makes my actions so much more detestable?”

“I’m not going to argue philosophy with you,” Lincoln answered. “You almost started a war.”

“War is man’s disease,” she said. “And now, it is our gift to the stars.”

“Not yet,” Lincoln said. “I said
almost.
Yours failed. We stopped it before it could even start.”

She smiled. “You dear boy,” she said, “war is not an
event.
It is a process. And once that process begins, it is very difficult to stop, until it has run its full course. No, no, you may have delayed it a bit. A week, a month. A year. But you haven’t
stopped
anything.”

Lincoln had every intention of shutting her up, of cuffing her hands, putting a hood over her head, and marching her out. But for some reason, he wasn’t doing any of that. There was something about her, something almost mesmerizing, that kept him from taking any action.

“This used to be a game of state, you know. War was the province of nations, and we, the people, were at their mercy. But not anymore. All this I built with my own hands, and with a handful of trusted friends. Capture me, kill me. Let me go free. It will make no difference. My work is done. The board is set, and I’ve chosen the pieces. And the United American Federation will finally reap the war they planted and never got to harvest.”

Whatever her intent, her words struck Lincoln with unexpected force. Maybe it was the echo of Mr Self’s lecture, or maybe she was simply powerfully persuasive. But for a moment, she shook Lincoln’s confidence, made him question his own intentions. What
was
he expecting? Was she right? Would anything he did here matter? Did his decision matter?

But no. Of course it did. Lincoln couldn’t control the future. He couldn’t control the UAF, or the CMA. He couldn’t control anything, outside of where he was right then, at that moment. But that moment was his, and he would see justice done.

But before he could order her one last time to surrender, Amanda spoke.

“Here,” she said. “I’ll save you the burden of choice.”

She raised the pistol, pointed it at him. But it was a small caliber affair. It wouldn’t penetrate his armor, and thus posed no threat to him. If she’d been trying to force his hand and get him to pull his trigger, she’d failed.

But in a fluid, almost casual motion, she bent her arm and placed the muzzle against the side of her own head. Lincoln was astonished to see her smile, as if she’d pulled some great trick or had outsmarted him, just before she pulled the trigger.

T
HE
L
IGHTFINGER
WAS ALREADY WARMED
up and ready to go when they reached it. The cargo ramp was down, and Baby Vegas was waiting for them at the top of it.

“Just four?” she said.

“Just four,” Wright answered.

“Well,” Baby Vegas said. “All right.”

Lincoln boarded, last of the team to do so. Still in a daze over what had just happened.

“You OK?” Baby Vegas asked as she activated the ramp to close.

“Yes ma’am,” Lincoln said.

“Anything I can do for you?”

Lincoln nodded.

“Take us on home.”

TWENTY-SIX

T
HE TEAM WAS
in the middle of enjoying a mini-reunion in the gym of their facility back on base. Back on Earth. They’d shared a meal together, and more than a couple of beers. Now, Lincoln stood over by the door, watching his team as they blew off some steam and celebrated being home again.
His
team.

His head was still spinning with everything he’d come through. There was no telling how long it was going to take him to process it all. And Amanda’s bizarre final moments. The others had all shared their theories; that she couldn’t face capture, or that seeing all her plans come to nothing had been too much for her to bear. But none of those sat well with Lincoln. Another mystery. Another question that might never be answered.

None of that seemed to be bothering any of the others, though. Sahil and Thumper were going at it hammer and tongs on the mat, with Wright and Mike standing to one side, acting as commentators. Actually, Lincoln noticed, only Mike was doing any commentating. But he was talking enough for both of them, using two different voices as he called out the various moves on display, and added color commentary with whatever embarrassing stories he could come up with on the spot. Wright glanced over and saw Lincoln watching them, dipped her head and gave him a smile and a little shrug, as if she didn’t know what they were going to do with Mikey.

And as right as it seemed that Mike should be there, there was a strange melancholy hanging over Lincoln for it. As if something in their relationship had changed, even though nothing really had. Mike was still Mike; same jokes, same stories, same easy smile. But there was a distance there, too, that Lincoln couldn’t quite explain. But then, there was a lot he couldn’t explain these days.

“Did you get what you were after?” Almeida asked from behind him. Lincoln turned to see the old colonel standing in the hall, just outside. He waved him in, and Almeida crept in and stood beside Lincoln.

“Not exactly,” Lincoln said, looking back at the others.

“I hate to tell you I told you so,” the colonel said. “But… get used to it, son.”

“I don’t know how I did on my first time out, colonel,” Lincoln said. “But right now, I’m just glad to be home.”

“Getting home is a win,” Almeida said. “Maybe the
only
win. The rest of it…” He shrugged.

“I’m putting the team on standby for two weeks,” he continued. “I think we can get you some time to get squared away on base, make sure we get Mike back up to full speed. All that travel’s hard on the body, it’d be good for you all to get a little down time.”

“Actually, sir, I’d like authorization for a training exercise.”

“Training exercise?”

“Yes sir. Team’s not gelled as much as I’d like, I’ve got a scenario I’d like to tackle with them.”

“Huh,” Almeida said, and he looked at Lincoln with more than a little suspicion. “You have a location in mind, captain?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Care to share?”

“No sir, I do not.”

Almeida chuckled. “Captain Suh,” he said. “I hate to admit it to your face, but I think you might be getting the hang of this job already.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head, sir.”

“See that you don’t. Let me know what you need for your
exercise
,” said Almeida, turning to leave. “And how long you expect it to take.”

“We won’t be gone long, sir.”

The colonel nodded. Lincoln saluted. Almeida returned it, and left.

Lincoln turned back and watched his team. Mike had joined the others on the mat, and was trying to pin Sahil’s arms behind his back while Thumper continued the assault from the front.
His
team.

“All right, Outriders!” Lincoln called. The others reacted immediately and stopped dead, looking at him, surprised at his booming voice.

“I think you’ve all had enough fun for a week,” he said. “And I have a promise to keep. Time to get back to work.”

EPILOGUE

“
I
DON’T KNOW
,” the NID security officer said. “Some kind of glitch in the detector, I guess.”

“You checked it, though?” his partner asked.

“Yeah, three times. But look, it’s showing like fifty contacts right now, and I don’t remember a single day where I’ve ever seen fifty people on the whole station.”

“Well, what do you want to do about him?” asked the partner, flicking his head towards their charge. The small man was seated on a bench by the wall, his hands bound at the wrist with quick-cuffs. He was rolling his wrists back and forth; slowly, rhythmically, back and forth.

“He’s not going anywhere,” said the security officer. “Why’s he doing that with his hands, though?”

“I don’t know. Nervous, I guess.”

“See, there it goes,” the officer said, tapping the display. “Now it’s all clear again. I’m telling you man, one of those techs must’ve goofed something up.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when the power went out with a pop.

And the small man on the bench, Yayan Prakoso, smiled to himself.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Even though my name is on the front of this book, there are many people responsible for its existence. My most sincere thanks to:

… Jesus, for courageously leading a twelve-man team on the greatest hostage rescue mission in all of history, and for making the ultimate sacrifice.

… my wife and children, for your faithful love and unwavering support, and for being my greatest reward and treasure.

… Marc Gascoigne, Phil Jourdan, Mike Underwood, Caroline Lambe, Penny Reeve, and everyone else at Angry Robot for all their patience, encouragement, and their assurances that I’ll be spared when the robot uprising begins.

… Lee Harris, for giving this book a chance to be.

… Richard Dansky, for your mentoring, and for being the best uncle ever.

… the denizens of the Dark Tower, particularly the Lorde who dwells therein, for providing a place for me during many cold morning hours.

… Jocko Willink, for challenging me with the 0445 Club.

… all the fans who’ve taken the time to reach out and let me know they like my books. Your kind words have kept me going through the “why did I ever think this was a good idea?” moments.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jay Posey is a narrative designer, author, and screenwriter by trade. He started working in the video game industry in 1998, and has been writing professionally for over a decade. Currently employed as Senior Narrative Designer at Red Storm Entertainment, he’s spent around eight years writing and designing for Tom Clancy’s award-winning
Ghost Recon
and
Rainbow Six
franchises.

A contributing author to the book
Professional Techniques for Video Game Writing,
Jay has lectured at conferences, colleges, and universities, on topics ranging from basic creative writing skills to advanced material specific to the video game industry. His acclaimed Legends of the Duskwalker series is also published by Angry Robot.

jayposey.com • twitter.com/HiJayPosey

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An Angry Robot paperback original 2016

Copyright © Jay Posey 2016

Jay Posey asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

UK ISBN 978 0 85766 450 1

US ISBN 978 0 85766 451 8

EBook ISBN 978 0 85766 452 5

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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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ISBN: 978-0-85766-452-5