Better to Beg Forgiveness

  The baggage center was quite modern. That had to be the doing of Trans Global, and all for PR. The baggage was in a cage in the center of the bubble. The waiting areas and docking gantries were arrayed around the middle, with services in the micro-G hub.

  To get luggage, one waved a baggage tag over the scanner, it located the bag floating in the mix, and sent a drone crawling around the cage to retrieve and deliver it. The problem was, there were limited stations, so it took several minutes to get everyone geared. Alex got jumpier and looked ready to abandon some bags to save time, if he hadn't been worried about unclaimed bags with pistols in them.

  There was only one bar/café. That was not going to make things easy. They sought a corner of one of the waiting areas and huddled briefly in a corner of it. Horace kept a close eye on Bal for any reactions to the boost and the micro G, but he seemed fine, just very remote. The ongoing stress wasn't killing him as it would a lesser man, but it was certainly taking a toll. The man's face was lined and stiff and he was shaking slightly. He of all of them was likely to be seen as suspicious.

  "Bal, as your friend," he said, "you really must take these so you blend in better." He held up two trank pills and prepared to be ignored or rejected.

  Bal took them with a nod this time. Apparently, he realized the effect the stress was having on him.

  Jason said, "We need to get into the crew area. The bad news is that there aren't many people assigned here for any duration. The good part is that all ships have some crew, there are contract stevedores and the station staff. We need seven suits our size and to sedate the sources. We also need to wait until we know there isn't time to react without delaying the ship—"

  "Which ship is it?" Alex asked.

  "Ah, sorry. GCS George. A nine-thousand-tonne tramp, crew should be about eight. They transport foodstuffs out and a very few luxury goods in, though it wouldn't surprise me if they had other stops on a circuit. I think it's roomy enough, but we need to wait until they're almost ready to button up. That they've moved up a slot means primary cargo is loaded."

  "So when do we need to move?" Bart asked.

  "I will attempt to find out. Alex, see if you can find a site on how to wear vac suits. We're going to need to."

  "I have done so," Elke nodded, "in training."

  "So have I. Standard training for all Grainnean troops." That was an interesting revelation, Horace thought.

  "How are you, Aramis?" he asked. Hopefully, low G was helping, because there was little more Horace could do for now.

  "The painkiller helps, and there's less gravity. I'll last a while." He grinned a forced grin but was holding out.

  "Good. We may be able to use sick bay aboard the ship." He certainly hoped so. Bal was the primary patient. Aramis's wound wasn't likely life threatening, but was ugly. Everyone else was recovering from the scrapes, dings, cuts, and bruises they'd acquired over the last few days.

  Jason wandered off to draw intel from somewhere. Alex plugged into the local net with a false ID. Luckily, that was something Company computers were programmed to do for obvious reasons of security.

  Horace was nervous himself. This had gone from an escort mission to a wartime bailout that was technically outside the contract even if it had still been in force, to assorted thefts and murders, and now to an attempted escape through vacuum. He didn't cherish what might happen next—hang on the outside of a ship for concealment? This was past any experience he had. Space travel was becoming more common, but that meant inside ships. EVAs were quite limited. Elke had possibly done some, and Jason made it sound as if he had.

  Horace was going to monitor Bal carefully for this. He slid over to the other couch.

  "How are you holding up, Bal?" he asked in his most solicitous bedside manner.

  Bal twitched and looked up from whatever thoughts were keeping him sane. Likely, his family.

  "Well enough," he said. "I am scared, of course." He put on a brave grin but it didn't help. "Even this habitat"—he indicated the arching space "above" them—"is intimidating, but I have ultimate trust in you."

  "Good," Horace smiled. I wish I did. "I am going to watch you closely, and adjust a dose of tranquilizer to keep you calm enough for safety, but responsive enough in case of rapid event changes."

  "Yes, I understand. I'll deal with it, as much as I hate medications."

  "Medications are often overused," Horace agreed to his charge's position. "But in some cases, such as this, are quite beneficial. We will be past this soon."

  "I hope so," Bal said, his body language and tight posture indicating he didn't emotionally believe that.

  Horace didn't either, but in a case like this there was no point in quitting.

  Jason returned shortly.

  "I don't have much," he admitted, taking Alex's computer and slapping a memory stick onto the pad. "They're still loading, and I was able to get a general hull layout of this class. There's a personnel lock in the hold here, which we can use." He indicated on the deck plan.

  "Won't they notice it opening?" Shaman asked.

  "No," Elke said, then stopped. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

  Jason continued, "It is traditional to leave that unsecured so loading crew can make use of facilities, unsuit to rest, and get to shelter in an emergency. I doubt they'll bother logging every use. They might notice a few more cycles than normal, but they won't generally look at that log until later, by which time we'll have done what we need to."

  "We're short on time, though," Shaman said.

  "Yes, we need to move."

  "Lead on," Alex said with a gesture.

  ****

  Alex was uncomfortable. He had too little knowledge and too little control of this situation. He trusted Jason completely, but he wanted more experience in this area to make him relax, and he wasn't going to get it.

  Part of the stress was Bal, who was critical but untrained. It would be nice if they could set things up and then send for him, but that was not an option. The man had to come along. He was bright enough, and fit enough for a civilian, but there was a measure of mental durability and confidence that came from hard training. That was why he was the noticeable one right now. Not because he was weak, far from it, but his strength came from years of leadership and dispute in an honor culture, not from dedicated combat and training. He had a different presentation.

  The inner door from the station to the maintenance area was unlocked. The outer door was locked as required, but it hadn't taken Jason long to code it open. Alex watched and learned. The man knew quite a bit about his technical matters. They were here between shifts and there shouldn't be anyone coming out, nor was there. Bal was still breathing fast, pulse hammering visibly and a potential risk to discovery.

  Jason motioned them in. They were in a modified assault formation and swam through the open door fast. The micro G was disorienting, but no one had gotten sick yet. Bal didn't need as much help as Alex had feared, which was good. Bart brought up the rear and closed the lock.

  Obviously, no one relevant was present if Jason had cleared them in. Ideally, there would be suits for all just waiting from off-duty personnel. Worst case, they'd have to stalk and sedate or kill people. The reality was halfway in between.

  They were in a locker room, smelling of sweat and astringent. Lockers, overhead and bulkhead rails and stanchions. Some litter floating here and there, small scraps of paper, a loose pen, and one soft space shoe. The padding on the bulkheads was scuffed and worn. This was the working part of the station and looked it.

  Jason had already half geared up in a suit left hanging on a locker when Alex looked back. Elke found one about her size and started getting fitted. There was one far too large for Bal, but they stuffed him in to get him aboard first. That was an ongoing point. If Bal succeeded, it was hoped the rest of them would be recovered later, so they were somewhat mission expendable. The manner in which they were expendable had changed, but the ethics and tactics remained.

  The
suited pair stuffed the rest of them into lockers. Jason took it calmly enough. Alex was not particularly claustrophobic and the lockers were large enough and with forced air to help ventilate and disinfect the contents. That didn't reduce the worry about what would happen if someone opened the door and saw him there.

  Nothing happened for long minutes, twenty-three by his watch. Eventually, he heard voices and the clatter of lockers. He stiffened as the one adjoining on the right slammed open and gear moved around. He heard a voice say, "Dammit, we'll need to look at the file again. Someone lifted Marvin's suit."

  "Are you sure it was lifted? I thought he was reporting in early."

  "Nope, he just called from the barracks. I get tired of these pranks. Isn't it always John who pulls that crap?"

  "Could be. We'll check when we get downstairs."

  Shit, that was going to screw things, Alex realized. As soon as they saw people gearing up, things would slap down with a terrorism warning.

  However, that revealed that the area wasn't under live or autonomous surveillance. That made sense. Suits could not easily be smuggled into the civilian craft, and any station staff or ship crew would be easy to mark. Alex tried to decide if now was a good time to go for surprise when that exact thing happened.

  As soon as he heard the slam and grunt of a fight starting, he came out, as did the rest. Jason and Elke were fighting hindered by their suits, but Bart was fully capable and strong, even if lacking experience in micro G. Aramis was injured but still had training and the element of surprise. They wrestled the two men to the bulkheads amid shouts that stopped quickly. The four bodies flailed around, Bart's opponent flopping like a fish and then suddenly still from a brutally effective choke hold. Aramis clutched his opponent in a viselike grip until Elke swam in and clenched at the throat.

  "Tape," Alex said. Shaman dug some out of a locker and they peeled strips and bound the two. Shaman and Alex donned those suits. The process was simple enough; strip, wiggle into the body of the suit, press the front closed, being sure the gasket fit around your groin so you didn't get vacuum damage, fasten the neckpiece, and hold onto the helmet. Clothes went into a bag, which went into an artificial cloth cover alongside the oxy bottle.

  "How long do these bottles last?" he asked. The one on his suit looked rather small.

  "Several hours at full charge. Half or better is required for this duty. We should be fine on a tenth," Jason said. Alex checked the gauge, which showed seventy percent and a bit. Good.

  Alex wasn't going to tell his two younger agents that if more suits weren't found soon, they were going to fly back down and be sacrificial lambs. Actually, that would provide a damned good distraction, with them misleading everyone as to where the rest had gone. He considered it briefly, but they were useful and would be so again. He preferred to keep everyone together.

  Their two victims woke up in a panic. Bart looked at them as they were stuffed into separate lockers, promising, "You are not to be hurt unless you come out. If we wanted people dead we would have killed you already."

  One of them nodded briskly, seeming to grasp the logic. His gag was several layers of tape right around his head, not a simple strip that could be poked away with the tongue, as on vid. Elke was thorough. But he panicked again as Shaman whipped out an injector.

  "We still need suits for us," Bart said.

  "Yeah, this could be a problem," Alex said. He knew they were both professional enough to take the news and do their jobs, but it was not an order he was going to enjoy. You guys wait in the military's stockade for the rest of us. If all goes well, we'll get you in a month or so. He didn't see any nicer way to phrase it, or any way around it.

  Aramis saved Alex from that tough decision by showing up with two more suits from locker rummaging. Bart was going to be hellaciously squeezed into one, but they would all be dressed. That was a weight off his shoulders. They had to hurry, though.

  "You okay, kid?" he asked Aramis after looking at his face. The man was sweating and wincing in pain now.

  "It's a bit rough, but I'll deal," Aramis replied, sounding strained. "Really, get me out of here. Please."

  That admission was scary. Aramis acted like a superman, and generally managed to pull it off. Confessing that he was having trouble meant his condition was serious.

  "We have less than an hour," Jason said. "They will button up at thirty minutes till. We must move now." Even his laconic demeanor was stressed. He twitched in agitation.

  "Jason's in charge until we're aboard," Alex said. Hell, he might as well be in charge from now on, with Alex providing oversight. This was Jason's domain and they were going to his system.

  "The lock's that way," Aramis pointed.

  "The cargo lock is this way," Jason said with a wave. "Mush, manual labor."

  Alex grabbed a stanchion and then a rail. He was going to have to pull himself along.

  "Five-minute lesson," Jason said. "Clip onto a padeye when I do, using a safety line. Swap lines before disconnecting. There will be a safety tech around somewhere, and even if he doesn't ID us, he'll see the violation. Then we have to stuff him, too. Move carefully, follow my lead or Elke's until we're inside. Absolute bare minimum life-or-death radio chatter. Let's go."

  "That is less than five minutes," Bart smiled.

  "It's the summary of the outline of the course précis," Jason said. "Let's go."

  They hauled themselves along the rail set for that purpose. The access was a long docking passage that could likely receive long tubes or canisters. There had to be some purpose to it, but Alex wasn't sure what. The airlock ahead was big enough for all of them and more. It was clearly designed for shifts. The question was, would anyone notice them?

  Jason led them around to a smaller side lock for station maintenance. He spent a few minutes inside the panel disabling the warnings and safeties, as Alex sweated. At any moment, someone could find their last victims, track the tickets, find some other way of locating them. Speed helped, but eventually they were going to bottleneck—as they were now, with one ship to carry them at least twenty days.

  He hefted his bag again. After the last round, it contained two changes of clothes, one pistol and a knife, some tradable valuables, a few toiletries, and a fliptop computer. If they had to lighten the load any more, he was going to be naked with a toothpick.

  They started cycling through, Jason first, indicating Elke would go last. That made sense. Jason could haggle or coordinate as needed, Elke had enough experience to pull backup. The rest of them were babes in the woods.

  This was the longest Alex had ever been exposed to micro G, but his stomach and ears felt fine so far. He only recalled having trouble previously while watching movement and floating. So it was the contrast that was the problem, not the lack of gravity itself.

  He was third into the lock. Again, Jason was being quite shrewd. He had medical training, they needed Bal, Alex was the boss, the rest were expendable. This was the order it had to be. Good man, good men all, excepting Elke who was a good woman to have along in a fight. He hoped she had some small amount of explosives left. They just might need it.

  Then he cycled through inside a small compartment with a pressure gauge, two peepholes, and not much else. The pressure shifted, the door popped open, and he stared out.

  Jason waved him to move and grab a stanchion. He did so, then reached down to fasten a line. He tried to avoid looking up because there was no up, no walls, nothing. The skin of the station curved away into infinity.

  ****

  Elke was twitchy. Every minute, more of the team cycled through. Every minute, she was more alone in a station full of potential hostiles. Explosives were not an option and hers were packed, along with her pistol. The potential threat didn't bother her; it was the inability to do anything should she be attacked. As it was, her only option was to surrender and be jailed. She wasn't claustrophobic nor did she fear confinement per se, but the concept of being helpless to someone else's whim was not attractive.
Not at all.

  Then she was out, in open space. It was pretty! That slim, white cylinder had to be their destination, just a few meters around the station hull and a couple of hundred meters out the loading gantry. She followed the others, still feeling like a bug on a plate because this was not how the regular crew would reach the ship.

  Apparently, though, they were taken for a maintenance detail, made more believable by Bart carrying a chunk of plating Jason had found stashed near the lock. Since everyone outside carried a bag with tools, gear, or personals, without a close inspection they were fine.

  The gantry was just like the one she trained on for assorted terror threats. They loaded gear on a flat sled and then latched on following Jason's lead, with her helping Bal, Bart, and Shaman get linked, then she brought up the rear again. The mechanism whisked them out between two containerized loads and some netted small packages in rounded metal crates against high G.

  The frame of the gantry wasn't actually white, but was polished titanium alloy in bright Boblight. Paint was not needed and would require labor better used elsewhere. That was space for you. Harsh and unforgiving even on the eyes.

  They seemed to sit still as the cagework moved past them in a sedate procession, the thick pipes floating around them and drifting aft. At the far end, they entered "dark" shadow of the ship's hold, only to find it light again inside. The contrast between Boblight and artificial had created that illusion. The bright gas and plasma spots gave good clarity marred by very sharp shadows.

  Elke had never worked in a hold. She'd trained on one spaceship for micro-G safing and dearming procedures. There typically weren't any serious terrorist acts in space. Sensors were quite good, so were remote removal drones, and the last ditch defense was to blow the compartment in question if you knew about an attack. The odds of having a device where a technician could respond, with enough time to matter, were near zero. She recalled her micro-G maneuvers, though.