Newport looked around the interrogation chamber. It was shockingly similar to its counterpart on the other side of the planet, the one separated from space by a docking ring instead of atmosphere. Convergent design, though this one had far more rust and random pipes. The cuffs chaffed at his wrists, and he thought back to how the Frenchies had treated him. Mounier had fired a pistol over his head, sure, but he'd been shot at by Frenchies before. Being bound by friends seemed much more troubling.
The lack of a direct link with Hudson was far more troubling. Drake's entire future hinged on convincing this man that he could be trusted, that he was worth the risk instead of being shot and ditched somewhere on Leeds for the frogs to find. It's far easier to give such a grim order through a screen rather than in person. You can cut the transmission instead of listening to the screams fade down the hall. Drake sighed. Perhaps the truth would set him free.
"I was trying to make one last run of refugees for weapons in the Charlie Wilson for the evening. I had already hit my quota, but I decided to chance it. I ran into Mounier in orbit. He was just starting his patrol out of the docking ring. We surprised each other. I should have aborted and set back down to base, and if it had been any other Frenchie I would have, but I got cocky. I had outrun that pilot twice before, I felt confident I could do it again."
"I ran for the Magellan jump hole with Mounier in hot pursuit. He was asking for my surrender but I felt there was nothing waiting for me other than summary execution. We made it to Magellan, but I didn't anticipate an French Intel fighter in the system. Initially I had hope that Gallic arrogance would be my salvation as there was some initial infighting between the two, but they put it aside to take me down. I got to California, snuck past the Carcassone to make a desperate run for Los Angeles. I didn't have enough bots and bats to survive two pursuing fighters. The Charlie Wilson went down and broke apart around me. I was lucky there was no explosion, but me and the refugees were ejected."
"I came to in a holding cell on the other side of Leeds. Mounier interrogated me about the LRF. I asked about the fate of the refugees. Allegedly he got them all to the Carcassone. He tried to butter me up by appealing to me to help end the resistance and end the war in Leeds. He's under the impression that the LRF is the only thing standing in the way of a pacified 'Agincourt' which I suppose is a compliment to us in a way. We hashed out a deal. He'd release me in exchange for me being his spy in the LRF and for me to stop smuggling weapons and munitions into the Leeds system. I insisted on being able to transport refugees and medical supplies as to keep up my cover, and he acquiesced."
Drake inhaled deeply. This next part was going to be the hard one.
"I had to give him something, some reason to send me back out to space. And I offered him a list of all known LRF ships and our affiliates. I said I could get him that list, but not from the surface of the planet. He agreed to get me to orbit so I could remotely access our databases. I... I gave him the full list. This list in particular."
Drake reached into his shirt pocket and the guards stiffened, raising their weapons. Drake's eyes widened: these were legit BAF marines, not resistance fighters in cobbled uniforms with hasty promotions as he first thought. He wondered where Hudson found them, but Drake was long past underestimating the old SIS operative. Slowly, he reached into his pocket, drew out a piece of paper, and unfolded it for the camera. He held it over the screen, unable to face his superior.
"I'll save you the time reading it. It was a legit list, with everything and everyone we've done business with on Leeds. I accessed it before you pulled my credentials, which was good thinking on your part just a few minutes late. I... I couldn't risk giving an abridged list. He's been watching our activities and if he had a list of vessels that didn't jive with the one I gave him, he'd become suspect. This was the only way I could ensure that whatever info he had was a subset of what I provided him."
Drake's chest felt a little lighter. It was done. Come what may, he'd played his cards and all that was left was to see how things shook out.
"Look, you know there are things that this list doesn't contain. He has no idea what the capabilities of these ships are, he can just look for the names as they fly around. However, if he catches any of these guys, he can give them the squeeze. We can change the registrations of our vehicles, which is inconvenient but not game ending. In particular the Freelancer registered assets should be top priority as there is no point in rebranding a LRF emblazoned vessel."
Focussing on the future, always a good rhetorical technique when you're in the wrong. The past is for assigning blame, the future, that's the refuge of the guilty looking for redemption, and Newport certainly qualified. Drake lowered the paper but had trouble raising his eyes to meet those on the screen.
"He seemed appeased by that plus a promise to inform him about major developments in the LRF. On the plus side, so long as I'm carrying refugees and medicine, no Frenchies will probably give me trouble. On the downside, of course, you can no longer trust me any farther than you can throw me."
"And that's the story, aside from a shuttle flight to Los Angeles and calling in favors to scrum up the cash to buy a new ship. I'm ready to serve the resistance, if you'll have me." Drake raised his eyes to the screen. "God save the queen."
As the marines unlocked his shackles, Drake fought back the urge to say something snarky. The words of his father swept through his skull, "it's important to know when you've lost, but it's critical to know when you've won." Dad was great for folksy zen-like sayings like that which seem profound but are useless upon further reflection only to spiral around to being the exact right words for the exact right moment years down the line. The cell door was open and his credentials were on the table. Somewhere out there, his ship was fueled and ready to break atmosphere with a dodgy nuclear mine strapped in the passenger seat.
He could work with this.
He scooped up the credentials and pocketed them along with one of the cigarettes. Drake didn't smoke. By the time he was legally old enough to do so tobacco was rare planetside. He preferred to use it as a commodity to barter for equipment. Once again, Drake was walking out of an interrogation room because he was lucky rather than good. One day, his luck would run out, and then it might be nice to light up once right before the end. But not today.
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