Angeleyes - eARC (28 page)

CHAPTER 35

My choice of the shell had been desperate, after my first choice wasn’t available. It was definitely secure, but it was terrible otherwise. It did keep us out of sight, but our only latrine was a bucket someone had grabbed outside, and the overhead was barely enough to allow room to squat. My shipsuit was in the way. It was nasty.

We waited, shivering, through an entire day cycle.

Not just shivering. We sat in a huddle, between the next person’s legs and holding them for warmth, and changing every few minutes so the outside people moved inside. We could babble jokes to each other, and not much else.

Mira was ahead of me at one point and said, “We did things like this in Blazer training. I never figured we’d do them for real.”

“I guess it came about from somewhere,” I said. “Or we’re just lucky.”

“Some of each.”

Every couple of hours we took a break to use the bucket, then we exercised and ate a bit of food. “A bit” is all we had—some energy bars. It was two bites each, but it helped keep us hungry, not ravenous.

When day cycle ended, Mira and Glenn snuck out. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I felt pretty damned low, between our situation, my crappy attempt at cover, the cold, short food and the long day.

I mentioned it and Teresa shrugged. “We lost a ship due to planning errors. You found us a slightly less than perfect hiding spot.”

I guess.

When Mira and Glenn came back, they had clothes.

“These should fit everyone pretty closely. Get dressed and we’ll relocate for the evening. We’ll have time to find another spot.”

Roger asked, “Where are we going?”

“An astrophysics conference.”

That was a new one.

I lay on a frigid, dusty surface and pulled on a skirt suit. I’d never worn one. The shoes were glossy on top, but still shlippers underneath. I could walk. Mira actually put on heels. So did Jack. He had a nice set of boots under a twill kilt.

I was amazed we got out unchallenged, with all the foot traffic and a dead cop underneath us, but Mira went out first, then poked a walking stick through to indicate safe times. I came up third and she handed me a phone, with a map showing.

I glanced at it and started walking.

Along the way, Glenn came up and said, “Oh, hello, Researcher Kiro. Here is your notepad. It’s been updated and the files cleared.”

“Thank you,” I said. Behind it was an ID badge with a picture that could be me. It said I was from the University of Machlan, Caledonia and a visiting researcher. My other ID said I was from a habitat around Meiji, and originally from New Liverpool, Caledonia. I could fake all that believably.

If they thought I could fake any knowledge of astrophysics, we were all in trouble.

It was clever, though. We were all in suits. We all were supposed to be ranking professionals. We shouldn’t get too much attention in public, as long as we stayed in the right crowds.

There was a manual ID check at the conference hall. They glanced at mine and let me in.

Mira and Jack signed us in, and she had a card from somewhere that was apparently legit.

Soon, we were gathered around a table near the rear, and several of them had larger data screens plugged in. I messed with my phone and notepad and tried to look like a professional. That kind of professional.

We even had a catered supper, with soup, fish and rice cakes. I guzzled about three pots of hot green tea with honey, to warm up from the day in a freezer.

I kept my thoughts to myself and ignored the lecture. I didn’t have a clue what any of those equations or images meant, but I pretended to whisper and nod to Glenn and Jack from time to time.

Mira actually pinged in and asked a question.

“In your transfer equation you reference an oscillation ratio. Do you yet know if this is related to the mass or diameter of the particle? If it is, what form does the relationship take?”

“Excellent question!” I heard. “We have found the ratio follows two curves, one for mass and one for diameter, which matches optimal particle size as shown on Page Four. Interestingly, the ratio does not seem to . . .”

It still meant nothing to me.

“What about you, miss?” he asked, highlighting me. “You’ve been quiet. Any feedback?”

I slung words. “Right now I’m just taking notes. It seems very well supported, and I’m looking forward to the follow up and any refinements of the numbers.”

That was odd. It was almost as if they were testing us.

They might actually be testing us.

We had lunch together and hung in the back, as a small group, chattering about these other people we knew outside the field, and keeping to ourselves.

It worked, though I spent the entire day staring and nodding, and faking making notes. I had not a clue what was said or if it was feasible or complete BS.

Then we went to a floor suite at the Hotel Obernal.

Mo rolled in with an entire dolly of sandwiches, soup, baked chicken and fish for dinner.

Juan briefed while we ate. I understood that most of these briefings were for me, but they did clarify points for the others.

“So, the ship is gone. We’re unhurt and unhindered, and they’re looking for ‘leads,’ which suggests they don’t have much. It could be they don’t want to share what they have in case they give intel to us, but it doesn’t seem that Mil Intel is involved, just BuLaw locally. I’d expect them to try to scare us out or into hiding, and have rewards out. So they don’t seem to be sure. It’s noteworthy that Angie isn’t mentioned, despite being a previous detainee. They may think they killed several of us during a previous attack. There’s no mention of the attack on the Salin station. They’ve kept that out of the news.”

That seemed positive, sort of. It wasn’t negative. We were hiding for our lives and didn’t have a ship, though. That didn’t seem to bother them. It was almost, “Yes, I lost a hand, but I have a spare,” attitude.

“At this point, we have to escalate to a level I’d preferred to avoid. We’ll need to actively hijack a ship.”

“We commandeered one before,” I said.

“This time we need to keep the ship, and not have it discovered.”

“You’re going to kill civilians,” I said.

“Yes.” He nodded firmly. “If I could think of a way around it, I would. The only justification I can offer is that ending the war will mean less collaterals, and that we’re doing so to save our own lives.”

I didn’t know how to respond. We’d been a gray area for so long, since we were non-identified combatants, but there was no way to do what we did while identified.

At least he wasn’t claiming it was a good thing. Just necessary.

I stared at the floor.

“Angie,” he said. I looked up. “If you can think of any way at all to acquire transport without killing anyone, I’ll take it. A ship in repair that’s unoccupied, except that we need to put it in service. A crew we can detain, except we can’t risk a port inspection that way. We have to do what we’re doing, and we can’t buy one or I would. But even that would be noticed. If we acquired a ship like the one we commandeered, and could smuggle their crew elsewhere, I would. If we can smuggle a crew onto another ship, I’ll take it. I can’t find a way to do it.”

I shrugged. The responsibility wasn’t mine.

Except it was all of ours.

The next morning, I was dressed down. Way down. The clothes I wore were dusty, stale, musty, had been well-sweated into and even had some urine sprinkled. I even wore a well-used briefer underneath, and it felt disgusting and my skin crawled. Mira had dusted my hair with deck sweepings after I worked up a sweat.

I looked like the complete bottom echelon of humanity.

I had a couple of food bars, and the wrappers were mashed and stomped. I had a water bottle with coffee stains on it. I had a shredded backpack with a collection of bits and stuff in it. The only worthwhile thing I carried was my phone.

We all had different covers, but at least Jack and Bast were also made up to look like dregs. We walked on foot, slowly, from near the homeless camp all the way to the docks. It took most of the day.

The dock security wouldn’t have let us in, but there was a power conduit. It still amazes me how many of those we used and no one ever caught on. We met up, Jack shagged the lock, we all went down, then we staggered back out a half hour apart. I mean actually staggered.

I didn’t know what ship we were taking. I just knew to be ready to get to it, that I might have to fight my way aboard, and that innocent people were going to die.

I just hung out where Juan had said, and looked helpless. I felt it. I knew sooner or later the cops would round us up.

My phone buzzed and I read it as a scroll on my hat brim.

Move toward
SCS
Prophet’s Glory.
SCS was Salin Commercial Ship. That didn’t mean it was local, it was using their registry as a convenience. It probably couldn’t pass a modern spaceworthiness test, or they didn’t want to pay higher fees or reveal personal info.

Did we have a ride? I glanced around slowly, and there it was. What a piece of crap. But if it got us out of here, it was worth it.

I saw Bast lurching toward it, trying to look fat and out of shape. He did okay, but he had a lot of muscle to hide. I gave him three segs and moved generally that way, trying to plan for moving transports.

I did okay, but was next to a marked lane when a jenny hauler went past.

“Outa the way, you burned-out trash whore.”

That was nice of him. I guess he’d never actually been a transient, never mind homeless.

But a while later, I was loitering at a strut near
Prophet’s Glory’s
lock.

I saw the crew muttering. They didn’t want anything to do with me, even to get rid of me. They were embarrassed and ashamed that I existed, and they’d have to deal with me.

I didn’t get any closer, and they kept watching me but didn’t approach. I mumbled to myself and shook my finger at the strut now and then as if I was schizophrenic.

Their cargo arrived, and we weren’t in the way so no one said anything. Actually, I wasn’t in the way. Bast was elsewhere entirely. I didn’t even know where the rest were. If I got taken, they were clear.

They had two loaders, old Dash 2s. As in, first generation, not even upgraded. Everything about this bucket was worn out. I was surprised it still flew.

Still, the crew were decent at operating them. One took a load, the other came around and reached for another.

The takedown was brilliant. As the loader rotated, Roger appeared, sprung and yanked the operator off. Bast caught him and applied a chokehold, then laid him gently down. Mira swabbed his nose with a sponge and I guessed he’d be out for a while. It was probably Ruff or some similar knockout.

Mo, Teresa and Jack rolled up the ramp using Roger’s loader as concealment, and disappeared inside. The command crew hadn’t seen anything.

Roger delivered the cargo, rolled back out, and this time, Glenn, Shannon and Juan went inside.

That left me to follow with Mira and Bast. I lost the homeless ghillie, and strode up the ramp in my standard shipsuit.

“There’s another one. Hey, chick, who are you?”

Mira was on him with the Ruff and down he went. Roger sprung off his loader and took a second one out. Bast just grabbed one and gripped. That was enough to disable the man before he was drugged, too.

It looked like we controlled the internal bay. I wondered if anything had been caught on vid, or if anyone on this ship even cared. C-deck should at least have monitors for the bay.

Maybe that’s why they’d picked this ship, or maybe it was chance.

The ones they’d disabled were here, and alive for now. That was a mixed thing. I guess they might be allowed to survive, and this was a chance. But if something went bad, someone was going to choke, shoot or space them, while they were helplessly trussed.

“Aw,
shit
!” I heard Glenn swear.

I looked back toward the main passage.

Kids. They had a baby and a boy about ten.

“They weren’t on the manifest I saw,” Juan said. “We don’t have time to divert.”

“What do we do?”

That was a good question. Killing adults was one thing, and still bad. Kids, though.

“Truss everyone, we’ll sort it out after lift.”

The ten-year-old struggled. Bast clobbered him hard enough to stun him, but not enough to kill him. They and the baby went into the passenger stateroom with the others. That made sense. Passenger rooms couldn’t reach any control functions.

Roger and Jack were parking the loaders when the next thing happened.

Down at the bottom of the ramp, Bert sat, waiting for permission to board.

On the one hand, I didn’t want to ignore him or leave him in Sol system. On the other, I had no idea how long we were going to stay alive.

“This isn’t the best ship, Bert,” I said.

He wagged his tailed and yipped, because he recognized me.

Godsdammit.

“Welcome aboard, Bert.” Maybe we could drop him fast.

He trotted up the ramp and headed for a bunk room.

We sealed up. There was some confusion outside. Someone from another ship was near the ramp looking curious. Bast and Mo at the top shrugged and gave him a thumb’s up. He waved and left, looking unsure.

Juan asked, “Do we have to note the Admiral is aboard?”

I said, “Ordinarily, I think so, even in Earth space, but I don’t think they know he’s here.”

“Good. The less interaction the better.”

Mira was talking to control with a breathy rasp.

Whoever was in charge of departures said, “Damn, Valerie, if you sound that bad, you should be in your bunk and let Rich handle it.”

This crew were on first names with the control office.

Almost nothing had gone right.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“Valerie, just to make me sure you’re not under duress, please tell me who you’re talking to. My nickname.”

She looked up as Mo started frantically pulling up data on personnel, and it wasn’t public, so he was digging. She opened the channel and started coughing hard.

After four seconds, Mo had the name, pointed to the screen, and Juan leaned over her.