Better to Beg Forgiveness-ARC

  Jason was amazing in his ability to throw scheisse. He had the headset on, and replied back to something with, "Sark, this is George, we are preparing to test thrust controls. Thirty seconds." He physically clicked off the connection, and cackled.

  "That should make them guess," he said.

  "On five," Schlenker advised.

  Bart sat down, the last to do so, found a nearby stanchion, and gripped it hard.

  He had expected the thrust to kick, but it eased in over a second or two, and he could certainly feel the pressure. He shifted to get a better grip on his pistol, which was resting on his thigh. It hadn't escaped him that this might be an excuse for space-trained crew to attempt to overpower them.

  He didn't think the Patrol ship really had a chance of catching them if they chose not to be caught. The volume, trajectories, and movements involved seemed to make it a losing proposition. Still, there were beams, akin to the stun settings on their batons, that could disable a ship by scrambling it. A missile wasn't likely, but if this had come about because they suspected Bishwanath was aboard, it wasn't hard to arrange an "accident." There was no guarantee, after all, that the ship in question wasn't an actual warship, not a patrol boat.

  Acceleration steadied out at what he agreed felt between two and three times standard. Jason sat at a console himself, entering data, or flying, or something related to the ship. Elke and Alex were guarding everyone from that side, and the rest were providing backup from this side. He actually believed the crew were assisting in the escape, laws be damned.

  Vaughn stared at his watch, counted seconds, and then transmitted, "Sark, this is George. Mayday mayday mayday! We've got a runaway phase and control failure. Will have to physically secure fuel feed and will need recovery. Trajectory will exceed safe maneuvering margin." He sounded scared. Bart wasn't sure at once that it was an act. The man was good.

  A few seconds later they heard the reply, "George, this is Sark. Understood, and standing by to assist. Please ensure you are not on trajectory for Jump Point. Trajectory for Jump Point will be considered fleeing pursuit and a hostile act. Confirm."

  "Sark, this is George. I'll do my damnedest but we've got serious power issues here. I've lost some guidance and navigation, as well as engine control. It's going to be ugly."

  As he cut transmission, Schlenker said, "Gina, jog the thrust. I'm going to twist the trajectory. Stand by for maneuvers." She nodded back to Jason's gesture. He hadn't needed to tell her what to do, she'd deduced it.

  It might be a civilian ship, Bart thought, but the captain knew what she was about and the crew were disciplined.

  Motion in three directions, some here, some there. Thrust shifting, never below two G, sometimes close to three. It was an unpleasant, disorienting ride.

  Which still could be used as a distraction to overpower them, Bart thought. He might be paranoid, but at this point, it was still the team against everyone. He forced his guts to clamp down and kept close eye on the crew and the hatch.

  Schlenker finished programming, looked up and looked around, and said, "The side benefit of this distraction is that it works as evasive maneuvers. For a while."

  Gina said, "Sark is bearing on a new course."

  "I was afraid of that," Schlenker replied.

  "What is the danger here?" Bart asked. He wasn't clear on what was going on now.

  "The Jump Point," Schlenker said. "They're trying to get a missile into it. That will transfer through and lock down the Point, and we'll be stuck while it resets. That gives them more time to organize a closer-in barricade, and stop all traffic until they have us."

  "Have they fired?" Alex asked.

  "Not yet. I expect they will. At that point, we're going for broke. No evasion."

  Jason asked, "Is that doable? What if they beam us, will your astronautics survive?"

  "Likely burn out," Schlenker confirmed. "But we should be set for jump by then. If not, we're all going to be in jail shortly thereafter."

  "You could still just blame us," Alex said. "Our pilot is at the controls."

  "Yeah, I could. It'd be pretty crappy to deny I helped though, wouldn't it? And how would I get any credit later for admitting I lost the ship? Better jailed for smuggling than in disgrace for being hijacked." She shrugged without looking up from her screen.

  Bart wasn't the only one looking confused, and a bit impressed. Jason looked around and said, "Colonial attitude. We didn't move there to be nice to the UN."

  And that was enough. Bart eased his pistol back and holstered it slowly in the high, shifting G.

  "I've got a launch," Gina said tensely.

  "Effective?" Jason asked, then said, "Sorry, not my place."

  Schlenker said, "It's okay. Gina?"

  "No way to be sure yet," Gina replied. "Depends on the acceleration, need a few seconds to . . . can't tell yet. Could be either way."

  "What margin?"

  "Thirty seconds. So fifty-fifty we make it."

  "Full power," Schlenker snapped at once. G rose to where breathing was awkward. Bart's neck felt as if he was doing lifts with weight, the tendons standing out.

  He wondered why that had not been done sooner, barring the evasive burns. That question was answered when Schlenker continued, "How's the drive holding up?"

  "Juggling that too, ma'am," Darwin said. "We should make it with a few seconds to spare. We'll need to shut down and cool down as soon as we Jump."

  "If we Jump," Jason added.

  "We're Jumping," she insisted. "Might get beat up, but we're Jumping."

  Gina said, "Twenty-second window on the missile. Still fifty percent probability of intercept." The nearest screen, Darwin's, showed intersecting lines that meant little to Bart.

  "Cutting maneuvering, I'm going to drive it in," Schlenker said.

  "We'll be oblique, need more delta V on the far side," Jason commented.

  "Yup, but we get a fraction more power now. Jumping in twenty-seven seconds. Darwin, I'll need you ready to switch manually."

  Bart wasn't looking forward to this. He reacted badly to Jumps, and under boost was going to make it worse.

  "We're gaining against the missile!" Gina shouted. "Sixty percent in our favor and climbing."

  "Expect them to beam us," Vaughn said. "We're not out yet."

  Sweating. This was like a really stiff workout, just from gravity. Or maybe it was fear.

  Yes, that was it. This was a battle, just not face to face, a starship was similar to a surface vessel. He recalled fire support exercises that had felt like this. Only this time, fire was also incoming, and real.

  "We're in!" Gina yelled. "Barely, but we are ahead."

  Schlenker said, "They can still—"

  Right then was when the charge hit them.

  It was far less dramatic than expected. Displays pinpointed, lights flickered, and the drive stuttered. The tingle was pretty severe, burning and jolting, but it only lasted a moment.

  Then they hit the Jump Point and translated.

  Ja, it was a Jump. Bart felt split, in two places at once, and disoriented, looking down, and then he was bursting with fresh sweat and half vomiting.

  Schlenker's strained voice cut through the haze. "We're through. Darwin, shut down thrust and then reset everything. All hands, damage control. Get us working again. Gina, commo, call Star Guard and tell them we're having technicals, not failure, no assistance needed."

  A few moments later, thrust stopped and micro G took over. Bart grabbed for the stanchion again to hold himself in place, and breathed deeply to steady his nerves and stomach.

  Schlenker looked up from her couch, commanded them with a gaze of leadership, and said, "You fuckers owe me."

  Alex straightened from his place on the deck and said, "Yes, we do." He rose and held out a hand, then worked his way around the deck. The relief turned into a group greeting with lots of grins. This would be over soon. Everyone looked wrung out, as if finishing a really good PT session. It wasn't likely to become t
he new weight loss fad, though.

  The crew were efficient. Power came back, control came back, Gina resumed her couch and reported that Star Guard was holding off. He gathered that was significant, even though they'd committed no violations here yet. At least he didn't think so. They weren't offering threats at the moment. Catching Jason's eye, he asked, "What's with the Star Guard?"

  "Ah, paramilitary rescue. Space Patrols are like surface Coast Guards. They're obligated to provide aid. Star Guard is part of the military. They can charge fees or demand a percentage as salvage. You don't call them if you don't have to. Besides, we'd stand out."

  "So what now?"

  "Now," Schlenker said, "we warp into the station. Nitpicky navigation and thrust, as close as we can get before we start paying for station control. We dock. You give me the money you agreed to, valid assurance on the rest, and then . . ."

  She took a breath and finished, "You get the fuck off my ship and never come back. Oh yes, and whoever you know had better start vouching or I've made my last trip to Sol System."

  "That will take about ten to twelve days," Alex said.

  " 'Ten to twelve days,' " she repeated. "Because?"

  "Well, Mister Bishwanath is officially dead."

  "I see," she said. "That wasn't a part of the news I'd picked up on. So not only is he wanted, he's also . . . not wanted."

  "Exactly."

  "And you intend to address this."

  "Once we can reach broadcast facilities, yes."

  "I think I should stop listening now. You will give me those assurances now or I'm going to turn into a first class bitch the second you're off the ship. Unless you intend to hijack it now, without enough fuel to go anywhere."

  "We do have some negotiating to do, don't we?" Alex said.

  "Yes. Yes we do." She ran a hand through her sweaty hair and stared at him in challenge.

  Bart cut in long enough to ask, "Permission to go below."

  It was hysterically funny to his fatigued but relieved brain that both Alex and Schlenker simultaneously replied, "Granted."

  CHAPTER 29

  "Are we sure they're heading down?" Captain Nugent asked.

  "We're pretty sure now," Weilhung agreed. "They are in the Grainne system. I can't imagine they'll stay in a station. If they leave, we will nail any ship as it goes through a Jump. I believe they could only make the one jump and chose that on purpose." His office wasn't as comfortable as the former palace, but it was certainly more secure, and even more so with AF STs guarding the gates and facilities. Listening to them whine about working with the Army was icing on the cake.

  The problem now was that everything Marlow did involved cash and he couldn't simply call up files or compel assistance. Nor did he have much in the way of immediate threats to use for coercion against accessories. Grainne was sticky about extradition. They liked to rant about their colonial rights and invoke the American colonies. Although, he admitted, he did respect the fact they didn't play lapdog, but it was a pain in his ass at the present time.

  On the other hand, it was the one colonial government that didn't try to stop individual entry. His call had a platoon go through on private passports and ID, unquestioned, though doubtless, the chartered luxoboat had drawn attention. Attention was fine, as long as no one could prove the matter.

  "Then where, is the question," Nugent said. His tendency to think out loud could be annoying. He was methodical and cautious, and some people mistook that for slow. Weilhung had not made that mistake when he met Nugent as a lieutenant, and did not make it now. The man had a very keen, deductive mind. You just had to give him time to work.

  "Bishwanath would have been more comfortable on Salin," Nugent said. "He would have had better support from his own people. He would have known where to hide. So he is not going there to hide."

  "Correct. Whatever he's doing there, I don't expect him to stay there. He may lie low for a while, send for assets, and then relocate. We're watching his family on Earth, and looking for bank transfers coming in. I should say, BuState is, through Justice."

  They'd been through this every day for the last week. All they could do was keep rehashing it with each day's added facts brought in.

  It was a damned shame they couldn't collar Schlenker or her crew. The problems being that compelling them to speak would mean an international incident, it was entirely likely she knew nothing, and subtle inquiries to that effect, which were ongoing, had to be very subtle because word could also travel back the other way. Still, the word through her company was that bribes had been offered. If she didn't get a balance soon, she might be agreeable. In the meantime, neither her ship nor the two coowned by the same investor could enter UN space. The Colonial Alliance was considering coming onboard with that, as a show of solidarity with Earth's nations. Of course, if Earth's nations had been able to make individual decisions, things would be a lot different and, ironically, the damned Colonials would be less concerned about their positions. All of that was a show of independence to slap Earth with.

  On a side note, Weilhung wondered what would happen when all these systems started declaring independence and becoming rightful nations, but not on Earth. That would certainly make things like this tougher, with more than one "real" planetary system.

  "You know, Johnny," he said, "I am so glad I don't have to listen to Fatfuck whine about how unfair it is we can't just extradite. I got to watch deWitt explain to him the whole dreary process to get someone out of this system. That was choice."

  "I hear you, boss. I'll stick to military issues."

  It was more than a dreary process. Prove Schlenker was a willing accomplice to Marlow in front of a Grainnean judge. Ask them to hold an inquest here to determine extradition. If that was proven, then ask for that extradition. In the meantime, she was under no legal obligation to attend and could not be restrained. Bastards.

  Back to the matter at hand.

  "We need to look at what facilities are there that aren't on Salin," he said.

  "Besides everything, boss?" Nugent grinned and leaned back in his chair. His hair was just long enough to leave untanned spots on his forehead, even above the helmet line. Under those lines, his eyes rolled and his mouth twisted. "Military force isn't relevant. The courts are favorable, so that's one, but it won't keep him safe. He doesn't know that we can't kill him. He knows it is possible others could. He is not more discreet; he drew attention to himself going there. There is more of a banking sector. There is greater political pull than Salin, obviously. There is not as much as Novaja Rossia or Caledonia. There are better assets for publicity . . ." Nugent stopped.

  "Publicity."

  "He wants it known he's alive." Nugent placed his hands on the table and looked forward now.

  That had to be it. The Colonials handled their own media. It could easily be stopped in Sol System, but stopping it going from system to system was virtually impossible.

  "First we have to send a message to every UN media corp to keep silent on this. They'll invoke free speech, so . . . no, fuck that," Weilhung decided. "LeMieure wants to handle the political end, send him a message, he can deal with that shit. We do our job, he does his."

  "That could mean Bishwanath will have time to get away."

  "I really don't have a problem with that. He's supposed to be dead, let's call him dead. Marlow owes us, though. He owes us big. We focus on them. If we get Bishwanath, fine. If not, we can't be nailed for not finding a corpse."

  "What do we do, then?"

  "Do? You and I do nothing, Johnny. We send a team closer to the fight and take the credit for leadership. First Platoon's already through and in Grainne space."

  "That's not as fulfilling," Nugent said.

  "No, but it is as effective."

  * * *

  Almost done, Elke thought. Almost done, and everyone alive. Beat to hell, angry from dealing with zkurvený idiots, but alive.

  It was pretty clear that half the crew were fine with the assurances, and the
other half expected to get screwed over. They didn't seem to doubt the money existed. They figured Alex was tricky enough to make it not happen. There were mere hours before docking and the tension was rising on a curve.

  So they kept watch. Four on, two off, Bishwanath confined to quarters where he was protected by at least three people and numerous devices, with a space suit on and O2 ready in case of a breach. There was no love lost here. Amazing. They'd been friends right after surviving the boarding threat and the Jump, and now they were back to a troubled détente.

  It was odd to be "sitting" watch while floating in micro G, but that was the term in English. She sat watch quietly, unobtrusively, blending into the scenery. Growing up, she'd hated her slim size and self-effacing manner. Although, she couldn't have hated it too much, she reflected, as she'd never done anything about that image. On the other hand, once in the National Force, she'd recognized it as an asset and cultivated it. People never noticed her. She was just the nerd in the back.