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 that 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.
She took her lead off Jason, who was unloading their sled first, transferring their crated gear to a net near the inner personnel hatch. He'd done this before, obviously. Bart was a bit clumsy, Alex decently composed, but Shaman and Bishwanath were near useless. Aramis was managing, but only through iron control. The kid did have good kinesthetics, fortunately. They had to look at least passingly professional to pull this off.
She listened to ongoing chatter. Channel One was nothing but crew and handlers, terse and professional. Channel Two had friendly banter and rude jokes. Morale was high around here, with the crew chief shouting and cursing his loaders and some of them throwing it right back.
She waved unobtrusively, her body shielding the gesture from others. It took three waves before Alex noticed.
What? His expression said through the helmet, barely visible.
She nodded and pointed, flailed her arms in front and feigned panic. Then she pointed at the crew hatch. Get them inside! It was the best she could manage at a distance.
Alex nodded with his whole torso and turned away. She kept an eye out as she moved containers. There was no real reason for anyone to question a new person on the crew, especially as there were several crews and the ship's contingent, too. Too many new faces would trigger suspicions. They needed to move fast.
Alex got face to face with Jason and talked through helmet conduction. There was some pointing and gesturing, then Jason dragged out a card and wrote something on it. Alex took the card, swam away, and snagged both Shaman and Bal. A few minutes later, they were near the crew lock in deep shadow behind a block of crates. When next she had a chance to glance that way, they were gone.
As she backed away from one container that was being locked down, someone tapped her on the shoulder.
Resisting the urge to scream, flail, or otherwise react, she turned slowly and saw Jason. He grabbed her by the shoulders, bumped helmets, and spoke loudly through the conducting material.
"Take Bart and go inside. Here's a rough map. Alex should be waiting. I'll bring up the rear with Aramis." He held up a card.
"Roger," she agreed, and took the directions.
"Bart's waiting." With that, Jason swam away to resume working.
Now, if only no one noticed that the large number of strangers had disappeared.
She advanced by the expedient of following an incoming container all the way forward, being towed along as it was cranked in. Once it reached the rear, she drew herself to the rails to dog it down. One of the real stevedores was alongside.
He called on a private channel. "You're new?"
"New on this crew. Done it a few times before," she replied. Literally true.
"Good. Can always use experienced help."
"Yeah," she agreed noncommittally. She wanted the conversation over. Every exchange increased the risk of discovery.
The guy did move away. Probably he was a shift leader or such. He hadn't asked anything that indicated he was suspicious. She moved behind the container, ostensibly to check the dogs there. That put her in deep shadow and closest to the crew hatch. She could see Bart, barely, a suit in shadow.
Another container clanged into place, with the noise transmitting as vibration. She clicked the switch that disconnected her line from the "overhead" rail and let it rewind. Then she waited patiently for a third, then a fourth container to lock in. That put the workers far enough away she judged it safe to move straight back, the row of cargo as cover, until she reached the bulkhead. That put her on open space, but still mostly concealed. The trick to staying hidden was to know what the opponent could see, not what you could see.
She crawled along the bulkhead by padeyes, trying not to be too hasty. There were lots of reasons for someone to be moving this way, and speed would indicate an emergency. Best to take time.
Bart was waiting, also patiently. He smiled and extended a hand to pull her in close; the corner he was in was just big enough for two. They were in an amusing parody of a romantic cuddle, his suited arms around her to minimize profile. That also destroyed their human outlines, making them a dark blob.
Two more cargo cans slammed in, monstrous blocks bringing black shadow, as if the ship was chewing them with giant metal teeth. The loaders moved over, ready to start the next row, and Elke felt herself lifted as Bart shoved with his feet. They both pushed off and tumbled, him using one arm to hold her,
she using one leg, and the two of them nudged themselves into the cycled lock, sitting open for them.
Part of her wondered about warning signals in the bridge, telling of the lock working. On the other hand, nothing had happened so far that she knew. She dogged the hatch, punched for cycle, and grabbed a stanchion. There was no telling. Perhaps the ship's company was busy helping. Perhaps they were handling duties belowdecks. They could have left the warning signal off so loaders could use facilities to rest and clean up. Or they might be so sloppy they didn't care.
There was no one waiting when the hatch opened. Once through, she dogged it again, carefully, in case it was inspected. Bart moved ahead with the directions, and when she turned, he pointed at a hatch. He knocked softy, and it opened as she arrived.
"Get in, quick," Alex said, grabbing both of them in hand and using his feet for leverage. In moments they were inside and he closed the hatch behind them.
"So far, so good," Alex said. "Two groups came through to use the latrines and eat. Seems the ship isn't secured against that. Likely too much hassle to sign them in and out."
"Good. Glad it worked to our advantage," Bart said. "I saw them enter. Saw some of them leave."
"Yes, some are still in the galley," Alex agreed. "They take rotating lunches. So we're good. So far."
"Need to get stowed though," Jason said from behind him, where he was hanging on a shelf. "If they're even half-assed, there'll be a prelaunch safety check of anything loose. Like this."
Elke looked at where he was pointing, and around the compartment. From the bedding, tools, caretaker supplies, and spare parts he deduced it was ship's storage. Not something occupied, but it would be visited often, and might even be so before launch.
"Yes, let's burrow in," she said.
Climbing in micro G was easy. They were shortly ensconced in assorted nests, out of plain sight, potential camera view, and any cursory body heat sensors. Multifrequency radar would find them in seconds, but it wasn't likely a cargo ship would use such inside.
CHAPTER 27
"Sure we're safe here?" Aramis asked.
Jason whispered, "Safer if you quit talking."
Aramis nodded. The ship's sensors could potentially pick up their life signs, if anyone thought to look. He knew his wound was causing him problems physical and mental. It had oozed a lot in vacuum, and his entire side was now sticky. The pain and tightness made his left arm near useless, every movement sending fire from thigh to neck. He was developing a pounding headache from the wound, micro-G blood shifting and muscle tension. He was not going to say a word yet, however, because he did not want to be left behind. He knew he was expendable, but he still could be useful and nothing was going to make him miss out on this.
He hoped they boosted soon, though, because he needed medical treatment and was getting nauseous from the pain.
He looked over and saw Alex scribbling on paper, quickly, quietly, and forcing himself to be neat. The man had always had atrocious handwriting. Elke and Jason were the only ones good at it. Both had to spend a lot of time making notes by hand for their jobs. Everyone else was dependent upon technology. Aramis had hardly hand written since primary school. He considered that that should be a skill added to the Company course. He'd note that if . . . dammit, when, he got back.
The light was minimal, but almost enough to read by. Aramis read the note it as it came past in turn. He realized Alex's penmanship was not world class.
"Standing by for boost phase. Will make an assault on flight deck, but (some word he could not read) to avoid any casualties. Pool cash again, give to S. Let me talk. V, can you pilot?"
Jason had ticked "Yes" next to the question, Elke had scrawled under her name. He passed the note on to Bart, and unzipped his suit to get to the pocket containing the cash. This back and forth was annoying, but necessary.
Jason sketched out a map and directions as everyone handed their cash to Elke, who stuffed it into a laundry sack. That sack wasn't impressively big, but some of the contents were gold and palladium, with bundles of bills mixed in. He wasn't sure how much Bal had drawn and he didn't need to know, but it was certainly enough to help.
Sign language followed.
Alex: Jason will lead.
Jason: Weapons holstered. There will be no sudden attack. Wear suits against wind. Meaning depressurization.
Elke: Carry batons?
Jason: Yes.
Shaman: I will stay with Bal, and Bart. Right after point.
Jason: Concur.
Aramis asked: Am I point again?
Jason: Yes, until we reach HQ. Meaning the flight deck. Bridge. Whatever.
Nods all around.
Aramis found it easy enough to breathe despite his side. The compartment was meant for inside cargo, so was still pressurized even if it wasn't really meant for human occupation. He saw temperature controls, but they were deactivated. That's why Jason had chosen this one. It was somewhat cool, and body heat wasn't going to raise it enough, between the volume involved and the airflow. There was nothing to do but sit and shiver slightly, waiting what might be hours for preflight to finish and a departure number to be issued. Discomfort and risk, and getting caught now would get all of them well-dead in space and Bishwanath likely "dead during the rescue," with them blamed.
But Aramis did get it. You didn't fuck over people this way. He was exceedingly pissed, and a bit frightened, about the situation. Okay, scared shitless. Jail and death were not good futures. Fighting skinnies was one thing. This was something else entirely, but he'd follow through. Fuck BuState.
They all stayed quiet, contemplating their own thoughts, as Jason carefully felt his way through the racks and found hiding places. Each of them had a good field of view of the hatchway, and some kind of insulation, whether fabric, padding, or laminate.
Aramis was ensconced in puffed plastic bubble wrap, the thick kind with ten-centimeter bubbles, peeled from between two boxes. His feet jammed the boxes tight against the shelf so they wouldn't shift, and his right shoulder was painfully against the rear upright, but that did make his left a bit more comfortable, while straining the right side of his neck to match. With a bag of coveralls in front of him, he was hard to see. Jason was directly behind the door, wrapped in a sack, and they met eyes and stared. Not good, not bad, just mesmerized and meditating.
The occasional indecipherable chatter on the PA was now replaced with, "All hands, report and stand by to secure for boost."
Critical juncture. Would they inspect with scans? Cameras? In person?
A few moments later, thumping and voices outside presaged the hatch being cranked open.
"Supplemental storage, check," said a voice.
"Check," said another.
Aramis didn't even see a head poke in. The crew were conducting a routine inspection for anything blatantly obvious; hull breach, structural damage, that sort of thing.
It got quiet again, but the background noise contained whirs and clicks now. When clanking noises started, he twitched slightly. Jason just nodded from his position, and waved a signal to the others. A snap and a rumble, and gravity started to return with a certain amount of unnatural vibration.
Jason rose carefully and signaled. Aramis rolled carefully out of his hide, raising his legs, twisting and lowering to the deck. Gravity built, but didn't seem to get above about .5G. Actually, it was boost, thrust, whatever, but it felt like gravity and made things easier. He had a floor now.
Shortly, they were stacked up to the side as Jason undogged and opened the hatch. They flowed through and to a ladder, then started up.
Aramis was halfway onto a step when Shaman grabbed him. He looked back to see signed, Bal slow on ladder.
Right. The man wasn't in as good a shape. Well, neither was Aramis at present. He could legitimately take a slow pace, not injure himself, and still be fast enough to keep the group together. He nodded and started climbing.
There were three deck rings between their cubby and the flight
deck, bridge, whatever. The climbing was hard, because it had to be quiet, and the G field was unfamiliar. It made sense to have Aramis in front, even injured. He could scoot ahead quietly, stop at the next deck ring, watch for crew, then move across the opening to the next ladder. He just hoped no one noticed that he climbed with one arm, and that he had both weapons slung for that same arm.
Of course, the gut-wrenching fear was someone coming straight up or straight down. There was no way to explain a group of seven armed stowaways on the ladder, and the safety hatches at each deck were a sober reminder that they could be blocked in, sealed off, and the tube evacuated. Or they could just be held in a tube for ten days or so, then taken out filthy and half starved by Aerospace Force STs.
Enough of that. This was a commercial craft operating in a secure area, and no one had acted like they expected trouble so far. Initial boost was the safest time to be making this approach, so now was the time to do it.