Better to Beg Forgiveness

  "What if they do shut things down?" Bart asked.

  "Simple," Elke said. "I blow up as much stuff as possible, you shoot everything full of holes, and we get outside in time for a competing station to cover the story." She grinned brightly. Bart chuckled.

  Jason cringed and said, "If we have to. But I cannot stress enough that we minimize damage. Really."

  "Besides," Bal said, "it will work much better with dignity. These things are important in the political scene."

  "All we can do is all we can do," Alex concluded with a serious expression.

  A series of bumps, shoves, and clanking noises interrupted the conversation. Two crew, Gina and one of the cargo crew—Nicolo maybe?—came through and undogged safeties before opening the hatch. There was a whoosh of equalizing pressure and a slight but steady flow of air into the ship.

  The redhead faced them and said, "The Captain's compliments and will you please, and I quote, 'get the fuck off my ship now, or else,' unquote." She was smiling a nervous smile. She made an open gesture with her arm.

  "We're moving," Alex agreed.

  Micro-G maneuvers took them through, with Jason first, Bart helping Aramis second, Bal with Shaman, and Alex and Elke bringing up the rear. They were into the station proper in moments, and it was like any other station: a long corridor of docking ports with islands of benches. The deck was polished space rock, and the walls, because they weren't bulkheads, were cut and semifinished, evidence of the hollowed-out planetoid that was Station Ceileidh. Another difference was that the ship itself was inside a long dock carved into the planetoid instead of outside a constructed station, and the cargo was being handled somewhat differently . . . and that was no longer their problem.

  Everyone except Jason and Aramis concealed their weapons. Jason tucked his in his belt, which was a little unusual but there were enough other people wearing pistols it wasn't obvious, and Aramis's carbine was too large to hide, so he slung it muzzle "down" and presented himself as what he was: a security guard. In five minutes they were through several passages of maze as rotational gravity increased, and stopped in front of a hotel. The classic Hyatt logo was carved into the passageway rock.

  With a sign to wait, Jason slipped to the desk, made their transactions, and returned. With another sign, the team split into elements and took three different routes into the hotel. When Alex and Elke knocked on the door, he opened it and ushered them in.

  "Why a Hyatt?" Alex asked. "Worth the money?"

  "Yes," Jason said. He gestured toward the beds and couches everyone else was sprawled across. The curvature of the floor could just be seen at this level. The G was about forty percent, enough for comfort without wasting kinetic energy.

  "Several reasons," he continued as they joined the mass flop. The tension was bleeding out in a hurry. Weeks' worth of stress relieved, for the moment. "First, a suite is more cost-effective and safer than multiple rooms. Second, classier joints are less likely to call Station Safety. They like to maintain the illusion of decency. Third, lower-class places are often flophouses. I haven't been through here in a while, only came through a few times briefly, and don't have time to determine which ones are safe, which ones are filthy, and which ones are loaded with smugglers."

  "I thought everything was legal here. Why smugglers?" Elke asked.

  "Since everything is legal here, the deals are negotiated before the stuff is smuggled elsewhere. Between Outsystem thugs, homeless sex workers, smugglers, cashiered ship crew, and dishonest profiteers, I don't recommend anywhere without a brand name and ISO certs. Both."

  "Both?" Alex asked.

  "Anyone can hang up a sign claiming ISO certs . . . for a while," he observed.

  "True. What a fascinating system you've picked to live in."

  "Hey, this is the system's main port. All ports are alike. The scum of the waste spaces."

  "True enough. What's next?"

  "Order us some decent food for delivery. I recommend Eight Lucky Chinese, Tapatios, Ati's Grill, or one of the Earth chains." He headed for the door. "And don't let anyone in, would be my recommendation."

  "I'd figured that part out," Alex said with a disgusted look.

  ****

  Many ships came through Grainne's Jump Point One. It matched Jump Point Six in Sol space, and thus brought not only Earth traffic, but traffic from anywhere in that direction, including a number of systems with only one Point connected directly to Sol.

  Not many ships departed Salin for Sol. Fewer still continued on to Grainne. Of those few, only one had blown through the gate with "system failures." Even though it had continued to have problems in Iota Persei space, it was certainly noticeable. Since it had been flagged for examination anyway, it was a beacon to Weilhung. He knew that they knew he was onto them. It was a matter of time.

  While the Colonial government didn't monitor activities or do much tracing, it was certainly possible to contract others to do so. He could even, had he chosen to, have hired bounty hunters to take them down. The threefold problem with that was he'd first have to warn them of the quality of their prey, which would raise the price and the necessary quality of who he hired, that he had no control over potential leaks at that end, which could scrub things, and that he'd be yielding a mission to a contractor. That issue was what had started all this—contractors taking military missions. He didn't dare go there and keep his career intact.

  Besides, there was a point to be made.

  There was no reason not to hire investigators to surveil the RC people, though. That was easy enough. Whether it was done with cameras or naked eye hires wasn't relevant. Nor was it cheap, but Weilhung had the assets of a government behind him. His opponents were down to carry-on bags and some cash, though he did not rule out them acquiring more assets. They'd been very resourceful so far.

  They were on Station Ceileidh. If they were still there in a few hours, he'd have them. If not, the chase would resume. That would almost certainly be on the surface of Grainne, because he couldn't imagine they'd try to hop another ship anywhere. That avenue was closed off with AF ships waiting beyond each of Grainne's Jump Points.

  One problem was that the press still invoked their "rights." No one dared breathe a word of why this ship was of interest because that would make things worse. Asking them to clear everything through an additional filter—because BuCommerce couldn't be brought in on this; too many people knew already. The rogue contractors would have to be physically stopped at whichever outlet they went to for publicity. He figured to plan for all the big ones and have personnel in position.

  As annoying and aggravating as this had all been so far, the one bonus to it all was that when Major Weilhung, UN Forces, U.S. Army Recon Force got into the game, he'd get that much more credit for bringing them down.

  ****

  It didn't take Vaughn long, and Bart was impressed. Vaughn came back within the hour holding a briefcase full of credit chits and coins.

  "Spot price minus five percent. They even covered the assay fee. The stuff also isn't likely to leave the system soon enough to matter."

  "And they didn't think it was stolen?" Shaman asked.

  "No, I suggested to them it was for a covert military mission. The variety of stuff I had made that a good bet. The watches and jewelry went to a local jeweler, and I offered him ten percent to hold them for three weeks. We might even get them back."

  "You still use coins here," Anderson noted, turning one over in his hand. "I'm amazed."

  "They're struck with a gauss field so they have an encoded signature. Every cash counter can check them. So it's not worth forging them. Once asteroid mining took off, Earth should have gone back to real metal coins, not plastic."

  "Instead we have rechargeable cards. Lighter weight."

  "Yeah, but no character." Vaughn flipped a Cr5 coin through the air to land on the table with a ring. There was silver in there. That was classy, Bart agreed.

  "I checked insystem flights," Marlow said. "We can be on one
tonight at nine divs, or tomorrow at three. Once I get used to your screwy clock."

  "What, ten divs of one hundred segs? Easier than Salin's sixty-four minutes and twenty hours and god knows what months. I needed about a week to get used to it."

  "Just so everyone knows," Marlow said, "I have to relay the bad news, too."

  "Go ahead," Bart said.

  "We are all missing and presumed dead."

  Into the silence that followed, Anderson said softly, "Does that mean they intend to make us dead?"

  After a moment, Vaughn said, "Likely not. That's why they've left options open. They can't jail us if we're dead, and don't want to admit the gaffe. This means they can smear us with more dirt if they do find us."

  "They'll claim we faked our own deaths, probably," Marlow said.

  "Right."

  Bal said, "I am so sorry. This just seems to get worse, doesn't it?"

  Shrugging, Bart looked at him and said, "I expected as much. It is harder on you and Jason, having families." He looked around.

  The expression on Jason's face suggested that there would be vengeance.

  ****

  Horace shook his head all the way down. Cash on the counter, seven tickets, board the craft with weapons in carry-on luggage and pistols worn. All they'd been asked for was to clear the chambers and holster or case them. There'd been little surprise.

  He shared a cabin with Bart and said, "I can't help but wonder about that. It almost seems like an invitation to have ships pirated."

  "I wondered about that, too," Bart replied. He was stretched out on a large bunk with his hands behind his head and legs sprawled. He looked very happy to have so much room. "I suppose there aren't many places one can take such a craft, unless you have your own maintenance, support, and fuel facility. And if so, why steal one?"

  "All colonies overreact against the controls of Earth," Horace said. "If they were like the rural parts of Africa, they'd have far stricter controls. Of course," he shrugged, "it hasn't helped much to stop civil wars."

  "Pfah. You don't fight effective wars with rifles and pistols," Bart said. "Not without support weapons, artillery, and some recon and power in the sky."

  It was a good start to an intellectual conversation, which lasted most of the ten days in. They took turns guarding Bal, though it was obvious no one recognized him nor cared, and there weren't any other passengers who were a believable threat. Some were families, some business types constantly sending messages, and there were a couple of college kids coming back from Novaja Rossia. The two of them hit it off and spent most of the time in a cabin together, after swapping space to be alone in that cabin.

  I could use a woman, Horace thought with wry amusement tinged with bitter frustration. When this assignment is over, hopefully in a few days, I intend to be far less spiritual, and far more carnal.

  The only real excitement was in the transfer from the system craft to the landing shuttle. The orbital station was not much to speak of: very sterile, small, and mechanical, being designed for a safe transfer between craft, as a support point for those craft and not much else. However, their intent to go through together came to a halt when they realized the lock was only big enough for three to five with luggage. Bal got cut out of the group and directed into the lock with no one else from the team.

  After a hesitation, some looks, a quick shuffle, Aramis took his place and went ahead. That made it obvious to everyone that they were up to something. Horace kept a studied neutral expression and pretended not to be aware of the stares. He kept expecting customs agents or cops, even though neither existed here. There were safety officers who were akin to cops, but not on hand, nor would they show up unless called. Apparently, their little dance had not been enough to merit it.

  Once locked aboard, one here, one there, it was a matter of taking seats and the typical cramped, annoying, mildly nerve-making descent through atmosphere, gravity returning, going away, sharp pressure on speed-killing turns and lifts halfway around the planet, before a long, screaming approach to Jefferson Starport. That was the best choice to find a studio making broadcasts for export, and was the only choice of a landing for today. Westport was the other starport, and it only handled traffic every two to three days, as the western edge of the Serpent continent was colonized.

  ****

  Taxi and hotel. Elke had no real time to see much of Jefferson or Grainne, other than to note the stiff gravity, bright Iolight, and mostly modern architecture with some old Colonial blocks being replaced as fast as possible. It was cool, this being autumn, and the local flora were a riot of blues and yellows mixed with the greens and reds of Earth transplants. This was definitely a multibillion dollar economy, not the waste they'd just left. Bal looked very sober, and never took his eyes off the scenery. The city was small but modern, with large greenways between it and the port, most of it agricultural.

  This time, they went to a cheaper location, but it was easy to tell from the outside it was of decent quality, and the cabbie recommended it. They cycled in in three groups and got organized. Elke stretched as she sat, and then started unsnapping her boots to change socks. Her boots were very well broken in and comfortable by now. They were also very sweaty and stale. The climate system had sensors for contaminants and the fan speed increased with only the barest hint of breeze. The smell evaporated in seconds. This wasn't a pricey place, but it was very roomy. That was an advantage of being out here.

  Jason came in last. "Okay, I've got my phone back in service, and I called a friend. We're borrowing a car. At some point, he'll need the car back or the money."

  "How upset will he be if it's money?" Elke asked.

  "Not very," Jason said. "I warned him it was business, without saying what."

  "Good. How are we doing on cash?" Alex asked.

  "Down to about two thousand credits," Jason said. "Just enough for some ammo, food, and a few bribes. We've got to make this work. However, I also have hyperweb access and my friend is bringing a spare computer. I can acquire more money tomorrow."

  "So we can find a schedule at one of the larger studios," Aramis said.

  "Yes."

  "I'll do that, if you like. UN station preferred? Just so it's harder to deny?"

  "Why would that be harder to deny?" Bart asked.

  "It's a perception," Aramis said. "If it's on a Grainne station, it means it's faked. On a UN station it's credible."

  "Even though a UN station will have better security than a local one," Jason said. "And of course, by 'better' I mean 'worse but more of it.' "

  "I was wondering if you'd got into my medications," Shaman said. " 'Better' indeed."

  "What is our approach to be?" Bart asked. He was finishing up a sandwich he'd snagged at the spaceport. Both he and Aramis had started packing away calories once insystem.

  Elke said, "I would see first if we can just walk in. That would be easiest."

  "I doubt it," Jason said. "They tend to have guards against fringe groups making statements on camera. Quite a few are willing to bust in and pay the court costs for minor trespass in order to disrupt the propag— I mean news. Of course, that means they don't panic and cut power at the first sign of intruders."

  "I would assume they run a strict schedule, and vet everything as they do insystem. In Sol System, I mean," Aramis said. "Bal is not going to be allowed on camera unidentified, and there's no fake ID we can use that will be of interest. His real identity will be a problem." Bal looked up at the mention, but offered nothing. He'd been going through stages of depression and elation. Seeing the money in the economy around him had depressed him again.

  "So we'll have to bust in loudly and with lots of distraction," Jason said. "Afraid so."

  Elke grinned brightly from the room's computer terminal. "Luckily, I just found a store that sells explosive listed on the hyperweb. It's within walking distance." She might have to move here and look for work.

  "Explosive," Alex said. He didn't sound ready for this.

&nb
sp; "Just enough for distractions," she said. "And intimidation, of course. Meridian and Thirty-Eighth Streets. Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, Inc."

  "Earthies keep going there thinking it's an official office," Jason commented. "But their prices are decent."

  "Make up a list," Alex said. "We've got a budget."

  "And we need a plan," Shaman said. "One with supplemental plans so we don't have to resort to wholesale violence."

  "Yes, and I cannot stress that enough," Jason said. "I'll order more food. I promise it will be cheap, but it won't be ship food or military rats."

  "I will appreciate that," Bal said. He mostly stayed out of the debate. He was along for the ride at this point.

  Elke knew her part of the plan. She'd have enough explosive to destroy everything they didn't need. Beyond that was up to Alex.

  Jason's friend showed up discreetly with the car, handed over keys, and left after a warm hug. No chatter, no name given. The man had to be a professional himself. He also left a case of beer. Alex doled out two bulbs each and took inventory in the lot behind the hotel.

  "That's a little more than a 'car,' " he said.

  "It's technically not a truck," Jason replied.

  "Technically, it's balls," Aramis said, grinning. "I don't recognize it, but I like it. Oh, yes, yes I do."

  "If I didn't know better, I would say that bumper was designed for ramming," Bart put in, resting his foot on it and shoving to test the resistance.

  "Then you don't know better," Jason grinned.

  Elke read the logo and name plate on the glacis, because it was certainly more than a hood. "Is this 'Goliaphant' a dangerous animal?" The logo glinted in the bright Iolight. She was cold, despite that. Jason had been honest about the UV, gravity, and thin air, but it was invigorating. Even in the city it had a freshness not found on Earth.

  "Can't you tell?"

  "I am glad we are in an urban area," she grinned.

  The Goliaphant was angular but blocky and an AM General product. It had the distinctive look of a rally vehicle, and was beefy enough to be a light military vehicle. She'd been worried about using a civilian vehicle, but this would do nicely.