Better to Beg Forgiveness-ARC

  "What happened?" Elke asked. "You were senior petty officer, yes?"

  "Yes. They rejected me for officer training when they found out my parents were married."

  Bart was so serious, so reticent that the joke had great effect. Added to the stress they were all under, it was much appreciated as they laughed loudly.

  Bob was sinking over the horizon, apparently into the water. Huge clouds towered up on either side, warning of a storm the next day. Those clouds were bright flames in the backlight, reflected in the shimmering water.

  "Bob really is gorgeous when seen like this," Elke commented. "A big, orange ball bouncing on the waves."

  "Bal, that's one thing we were never clear on," Aramis said. "Just why is the local star called 'Bob'?"

  "Just as Elke said," Bal nodded.

  "Hmmm?"

  "Big Orange Ball."

  There was silence for long seconds.

  Bart finally said, "You must surely be joking."

  "No, not at all," Bal insisted. "Look, it can't be the Sun. It can't be called by a catalog name. No one on Earth ever gave it a mythological name, because it can't be seen well enough to matter from twenty-one light-years. It was never even given any proper constellation name, and let's be honest: literacy is a rare commodity here. And it does have far more yellow to its spectrum than Sol."

  "Big Orange Ball," Alex repeated.

  "That's actually quite clever," Aramis admitted.

  "So how long until we port?" Shaman asked. He hadn't said anything about Bob, but was chuckling.

  "Late tomorrow," the captain said. They still hadn't asked his name and weren't going to. He hadn't asked theirs, though they'd been talking enough. Not good. Still, they had to unwind, the captain was in on this as a smuggler, and everyone who mattered knew who they were anyway and would twig once a hint was given.

  "Even better, we'll have concealment."

  "That was my plan, yes," Jason nodded. He looked over at the captain. "And you will be released, sir, and paid. We do apologize for the inconvenience."

  "And I do hope we can count on your silence, under the circumstances?" Elke commented.

  The captain stretched and sighed.

  "Yes, I will be silent," he said. "As long as I am paid for both ways and no furder hassles."

  "I see no reason for them," Alex said. "All our hosts have been such nice people."

  Elke smiled and said, "Well, Alex, you get more respect with a kind word and five kilos of high explosive than you do with a snarl. You should have had demo support in Barbados."

  It was eerie to look out at night. With the navigation lights and bright starlight illuminating the crests of waves, and some luminescent fish, they rode above a glowing blanket, occasionally jolted by a pressure gradient. The broad wings and heavy compression did make it a very smooth flight overall. They were at fifteen meters, just high enough to clear normal waves, but in danger for a storm.

  "They'd land and drift if that happened," Bart said. "This is not a craft for a planet without good weather prediction."

  "No, that would be bad," Elke agreed. She'd been at the window or the rear deck most of the trip, not looking queasy, but looking as if she was afraid she might be.

  It was efficient, however. They were making a steady hundred kilometers per hour using less fuel than a boat and comfortably seated for breakfast, even if the rations were self-heating prepacks. The captain offered them, and it beat what they had.

  The captain came up from below and relieved the second mate. He held a bulb of coffee and looked rested and awake. He glanced over the instruments, nodded, and said, "We make land tonight at dusk."

  "Can you delay until dark?" Alex asked. "If I dial back speed, sho," he said, sipping. "Need to save fuel."

  "Do so. We want you to make port so no one is suspicious."

  "Gonna wonda why I'm late," he shrugged.

  "For another five hundred, I think you can make up a good story."

  "I think so, too," he grinned, then raised his coffee in toast.

  The day passed with them discreetly checking weapons and gear. Ammo was in short supply, and it wasn't likely they could get more. He was always amazed at how many thousands of rounds one could burn through for suppression and distraction. Bart was at the chart table with a broad, hi-res image up, and pointed out features to the rest.

  "With an air cushion vehicle, we could land on any stretch of beach. The problem being that most of the beaches along this coast are rough rock. This is a postglacial flooded plain, so there hasn't been time for any real beach to form. We have a choice of rocky bluffs, the harbor, or a sandy shelf beach all the way over here." He indicated on the map.

  Alex looked at the screen. He looked more. He was familiar with sea charts as a Marine officer, but it had been a long time and he didn't see what he wanted to see.

  "Okay," he said finally. "You're telling me we land in a harbor full of customs agents, or in the ass end of nowhere where it could be hours before any kind of transport comes along."

  "If we could refuel, we could go further. There are strict limits on the range of this craft."

  "And any regular boat would be even more limited."

  "Yes, exactly," Bart said.

  "So why can't we just fly up the rocky beaches?"

  "Turbulence. Between land, water, rocks, temperature gradients, wind currents—"

  "Yeah, I get the idea."

  "We can land and port, or land and try to climb a beach and look for transport, seven armed people with no good explanation, hoping the first people we encounter are not Coastal Patrol."

  "I suppose we should talk to our host some more."

  "Yes, we should."

  * * *

  Jason sat at the controls getting the hang of this thing, with the captain at his elbow. Better altitude gave a smoother flight to a point, because the air stabilized from the wave motion below. At peak altitude, lift fell off. Once you learned to keep it in the zone, it wasn't bad at all.

  That discovered, he engaged the autopilot and punched in direction and speed. They didn't have exact coordinates yet, so he just told it to fly generally for the port. They had a couple of hours, and at this range they'd be invisible against the sea.

  The captain nudged him, and they joined the rest in the debate. Where to land?

  "There is traffic on de coast road," the captain offered. "But not much. Small trucks. Some land trains."

  " 'Land trains'?" Shaman asked.

  "Multiple trailers behind a powerful turbine tractor. They take their own fuel and supplies and don't stop between destinations," Aramis said. "They still use them in Australia."

  Shaman said, "I don't see a faster way of traveling. We flag one down, it'll be suspicious, of course, and we try not to hurt anyone."

  "The standard of living is higher over here, too," Alex said. "So bribes won't go as far." He noticed the extra body and said, "Captain, would you please join the crew? I don't wish to share this info."

  The captain didn't look happy at all, but he did climb down the hatch after a hurt and suspicious look. Bart dogged the hatch and said, "Go ahead."

  "I was going to say," Alex continued, "then we have to dismount well outside of town to avoid being pegged. We can't just drive into the spaceport."

  "Why not? That would be faster. Less time for anyone to react," Aramis asked.

  "Assuming we find a vehicle going there. If someone hauling us is reported missing, and they're seen, the local alarm gets raised sooner. We want the locals looking in the wrong place for a while and never thinking of the threat to the port."

  "You're correct, of course."

  "So how far out should we start?"

  "I don't know that we can," Jason said. "The beaches are heavily bluffed and rocky. There's one area that's flat above the cliffs and low enough that this bird can reach it, and it means a tricky transition from wing lift to skirt, then back the other way without nose-diving and wrecking. The captain has to do that latte
r part."

  "Once we're gone it's not our problem," Aramis said.

  "It is if he crashes and is seen, or if he decides to cruise along behind us until we're seen." That coast looked ugly on the chart.

  "There is that." Aramis looked embarrassed, but it wasn't a hard mistake to make.

  "You advise against it, then?" Alex asked.

  "I do," Jason admitted. "The captain's being truthful. Our best bet is to get into the harbor and sneak out from there." It wasn't getting any better.

  "He said they watch," Bart put in.

  "We're not going to look like refugees. We're going to look like crew. Elke and Bal are the only potential problems, although Bal speaks the language."

  "I'd like to hang onto weapons for now," Alex said. "Can we manage that?"

  "Small arms and batons, yes. I'm sure I can find a way." Jason wasn't quite sure which way yet, but there had to be something.

  "We should send Bal through first," Aramis said.

  "Yes," Bart agreed.

  "That's a disturbing concept."

  "I can manage the talk, as they say," Bal said, nodding. "I am a liability in a fight, so if I can get at least to the gate first, I am easier for you to extract. If I make it through, I am not a concern should you have to blow your way through."

  "I agree," Elke said.

  "Yes," Jason agreed. "Makes sense. We'll start with Bal, then whoever is most obvious, so it should get easier. What do we need? ID? Bribe? The proper look?"

  "Bring the captain up," Alex said.

  The captain seemed glad to help if only to assure they were off his ship sooner. "I give you clodes," he said. "You blend in, say your piece, and try to slip out widout papers. They may not ask if they're busy."

  "We'll have to hope for that."

  "Then let's land. I think the captain has earned a bonus," Alex said while Jason cringed. They were getting desperately low on operating cash and would need more.

  The captain brought the lights back up and headed back into the pattern. As spread out as the craft were, it wasn't glaringly obvious they'd been dark. He slid to the south and picked up the beacon into the harbor. Gulls and birdiles flew in formation with them. It occurred to Jason that he hadn't seen much local life. Apart from a few reptilian forms, most of what he'd seen was Earth forms. Few lived on land here, and the chemistry difference seemed to have chased most locals far away from the invading humans.

  Ports at night always looked surreal, with sea mist halos around lights, illuminated structures, boats, and black water. They settled, skittered, bumped, and slowed, then drove in on the cushion, bobbing slightly.

  Everyone was tense, more so with weapons stowed in luggage. Aramis was good. He'd made it all look like typical sea bags and crew bags. Of course, if any of it was scanned or opened for a search, there would be trouble. To that end, he'd stowed weapons loaded so they could be grasped in a second. They just might be shooting their way out of this.

  Jason considered that soberly. They were already guilty of multiple MCJ violations, local laws, UN civil laws, including conspiracy, murder, arson, grand theft, embezzlement, attempted kidnapping, not to mention weapons violations . . . it was a hell of a time to be a good guy.

  The docks here were much more modern, with proper gantries and davits for unloading cargo onto conveyers and modular transporters. At the crew's direction, they fell to and helped sling a container each, then rode with it onto the conveyor. Bal was with Shaman for comfort and safety. Jason rather enjoyed the lift, and was sorry to jump down after unsnapping the hook. Back to the threat zone. He sighed.

  He made sure each member of the crew got a slice of the captain's take. That was a security measure. If they'd all taken a modest bribe, they were not about to admit any impropriety. However, if the captain had kept it all, that could be likely.

  It was bright enough under strong lights. A modern port never slept, and this was modern enough. Sharp shadows contrasted everything, but he could see most of the dock despite them. He could clearly see where the exit was, and off-duty shore details and some crew were heading that way. They joined the gaggle. Shift change was a good time to press through. Security would be busy and hopefully accommodating.

  There was a line through the personnel gate. They had agreed to be close for mutual cover, even if it meant an act to pretend not to know each other. Luckily, few of the departing crews wanted to talk.

  He felt the prickly alertness of the others, and that wasn't good. Bishwanath was first, then Shaman, he, Alex, Elke, Bart, and Aramis, in a clear run from oldest and most necessary to youngest and most expendable. Hopefully, though, they'd all make it. He stepped forward into the tube-lit tunnel past the checkpoint.

  No such luck. They were inspecting bags and not at random. ID didn't seem to be an issue. Contraband was.

  A tunnel. We're in a fucking tunnel, he thought. That created all kinds of problems.

  On the other hand, it meant no threats from the side. He looked around for cameras, yes, there and there, and there had to be barricades . . . there. Now, did Elke have any explosive? Everything was supposed to be stowed, but he was betting she still had a hideout or two . . . because if she didn't they were all steak.

  The line moved steadily, with an even ten inspectors checking bags mechanically. The way Aramis had wrapped things, they might not even notice, but the odds shrank with seven inspectors on the seven of them. He kept an eye out for cues and intel and prepared to start his own if need be.

  Alex unzipped the rear of his bag. That was all he needed to know. He followed suit and noted the location of his baton's grip. He was glad they had those along, now.

  He edged forward, eyes slowly sweeping. Everyone was ready, and something ugly was going to erupt any time now.

  They shuffled forward and the inspectors grabbed the first three bags: Bal's, Shaman's, and his. He kept a calm outside while watching expressions. He already knew they were busted. The question was how much and in what fashion? He got the answer in about a second.

  All three men twitched, one looking up at Shaman, the one with Bal reaching for his gun, and the one facing Jason reaching for what had to be an alarm.

  The only good thing was that the reaction was simultaneous, a group response.

  Bal was no slouch. He yanked a baton from under his coat and zapped his antagonist. Jason drew his from the bag as did Shaman, and the rest of the team swarmed forward for backup, all facing forward or sideways except Aramis, keeping the line behind at a distance it was too happy to keep. Shouts, yells, and clatters made the fight obvious, but they were surging forward past the inspection point.

  Ahead, a gate slammed down, then another behind. It was obvious how the locals felt about such things; neither one had any safety interlocks and two people were almost punctured by the gate ends.

  "Move!" Elke yelled, slipping flat against the wall and low, skittering sideways to the forward gate. She fumbled for something in her pack, and Jason cringed, because in this tunnel it was going to be deafening. None of them had hearing protection in. They wanted to be discreet, and the high-end filter earbuds were not what anyone in this port wore.

  A tremendous boom echoed down the hall, but the gate was still standing. Then he realized Elke was still setting her charge. That had been gunfire. He turned to see one guard with a large pistol, just as Aramis raised his free hand and shot him through the face. Another cringe. They had hoped to avoid local casualties, but a goon in ballistic and shock armor necessitated an escalation, and he had fired first. Aramis staggered. He'd been hit.

  "Fireinthehole!" Elke shouted, barely a moment before her detonation shook the walls and tore the grate in three places. Jason's head rang. She kicked at the residue while cursing before disappearing into a wave of explosion-churned dust filling the enclosed space. Jason took a deep breath, grabbed his bags, and pushed ahead of himself. He nudged Shaman and Bal, they all waddled forward with arms and batons out to feel.

  Elke shouted, "Watch
the baton, vůl," and shimmied underneath to rise alongside Jason. She threw something else that popped and turned into a smoke screen.

  They emerged from the tunnel into an open area still filled with dust that resolved as the vestibule to outside guarded by a single, surprised-looking man whose function was clearly to stop people entering the wrong way. Someone zapped him and he went down, then they were on the street in a dock area, industrial facilities giving way to bars, casinos, whorehouses, and assorted other crude entertainment. Jason saw pawnshops, repair ops . . . great places to hide. No one here would talk to a cop unless threatened, and likely the local union/mob conglomerate ran things. They just had to hope their casualty wasn't anyone who got a job through connections. Likely not. He was a low enough level flunky.