Better to Beg Forgiveness (55 page)

The last few tense minutes before docking trickled down, with the whole team in the crew cabin next to the forward lock. The captain had the bridge, and she was definitely on their side to cover her own ass. She'd chewed Radaman but good over his attempt to slip notice out. That could only create more tension, but they were leaving the vessel so it wasn't their problem.

They sat on worn couches, unstrapped but padded. Any maneuvers at this point should be tiny burps, not blasts. Support was needed; crash protection was not. They each had a bag alongside, ready to grab and go. The airlock was there, inviting and tantalizing, and foreboding with the chance of hostiles beyond, which the crew had not been told about. Jason reminded the others, "You realize we still have a fight once we get there, and legal snarls." He kept his eyes on the hatch as he spoke. The chance of a military force breaking in on them was increasingly small, but he wouldn't feel safe until they were well clear of this ship. Then, of course, it would start again with the next leg of the journey.

Alex asked, "Yeah, I gathered that. How's that going to work? If there's no local laws, what are we doing wrong?"

Jason shook his head fractionally. "No, there are laws. The laws cover disputes. Basically, the government has no position on your actions, but if someone else does, they can demand a resolution. If we shoot up a studio, you bet they'll demand a resolution. At the very least we'll have to replace any equipment we destroy. If we kill anyone, even reporters, we're looking at literal millions in damages and years indentured to pay the debt off. Do not damage anything we don't absolutely have to, or someone will fucking own us."

"Isn't there anything about extenuating circumstances?" Aramis asked.

"Nope. No one is making us shoot. We could negotiate peacefully." Jason pulled at his collar. It was hot in here with all these bodies. Airflow was minimized during docking.

Alex chuckled. "Not going to happen. We're busting into their show. That's the only way we can get a big enough splash without them locking the broadcast. It's either that, or try to bull our way in the front without being stopped, or going underground."

Aramis nodded in Bal's direction. "I guess we minimize damage and try to get Corporate to pay for it. Or if Mister Bishwanath pulls this off, he'll cover for us."

Jason said, "Meantime, we could be indentured labor. Anything from mowing grass to shoveling manure."

"Will anyone be shooting at us?" Bart asked.

He likely meant,
How many people will be shooting at us?
Jason thought.

"Entirely possible. Remember that Grainne is a frontier society. There are dangerous animals on the planet, so people go armed. Some hunt food. There aren't many cops, and all veterans keep their military weapons and can be called for duty for trouble, under District Council orders. Just assume anyone can be armed, and with better stuff than we have presently. Out in the Habitats, there is a certain black market element that can get violent."

"Sounds like my kind of system," Elke said.

"Why do you think I retired here?" Jason grinned. "It's not bad at all, and cheap. But you
are
held accountable for your actions. So don't fuck up."

"Is it necessary that we hijack a live broadcast?" Bal asked. "Can we not just schedule a press release?"

"Not here, sir," Aramis said. "It won't work."

They all looked at him.

"Look, I did some journalism in school, and we studied press releases. If we do that, the word goes out to expect the release. Then the initial release goes out. Then the video of the conference. So then the UN clamps down on broadcasts. Their ships simply won't transmit the news. This has to go out so fast they can't shut all the sources down, and it's still a crapshoot. If they get word through some smaller system, it'll still be a 'rumor' they can squash, and we're stuck here, unable to go home. The broadcast, not private trans or wire, remember, has to hit several systems at once so it can't be denied easily, which means they'll be busy doing damage control, have badly conflicting admissions and denials, and then figure it's easier to burn some BuState asshole than deny it."

"So we must take over a broadcast in progress?" Bal asked.

"I concur," Alex said with a nod and a nervous glance at the hatch. "Multiple light-speed delays means multiple copies against multiple denials. We prove you're alive and
then
you can start doing press releases for various nations."

"Another reason for live," Jason said, "is that studios, even foreign owned, really don't like to interrupt broadcasts. They view local ratings rather highly, and regard and assume censorship is the responsibility of the receiving station. For example, two of the nations on Mtali don't allow any nudity to be shown. Certain political issues are sensitive on Earth. The anti-Monarchist groups are not allowed to be seen on government stations in Caledonia. The attitude here is very much, 'That's your problem, not ours.' Even if our opponents get into the station, it'll take a court order, that they will never get, to shut down a broadcast. If they physically interrupt it, they'll face a suit for damages."

"Sue-happy bunch, aren't you?" Alex asked.

"Yes, we are, and it works to our advantage at this time," Jason grinned back. "Worst case, they interrupt, but Bal can remain resident here and they can't touch him."

"Why not do that?" Elke asked, "And then go about publicity?"

"They'll claim he's a double or impostor. Hard to disprove and they have official color to their claims," Shaman said. "Yes, our best bet is not the easiest, but it is the messiest and most public."

"Not to mention that we'd have to explain ourselves then. So let us do this," Alex said.

"It will take another ten days," Jason said.

"Why so?" Alex asked. "Ship departures?"

"No broadcasts like that from the station. Technical and astro only. They have some local entertainment but it's all wired or local transmission. You want a proper broadcast, we have to get boots on the ground on Grainne."

Elke sighed. "What's involved in that?"

"You're going to love this," Jason chuckled.

"Yes?" Aramis prompted him, first to do so after a long pause.

"We buy tickets and land. All there is to it."

"That's
it
?" Alex asked. "You said it wasn't complicated, but . . ."

"Yup. I'll get a private assay on the remaining bullion, convert, get the cash, minus the five percent fee we're looking at for outsystem transfers, we buy tickets and board, no questions asked. After that we have to schedule our approach and hit a station. Getting down is easy, and sooner is better, in case they do come looking for us," he added.

"So the solution to this element does not involve explosive or shooting?" Elke asked.

"Correct."

"How . . . interesting," she said.

"If we need to, I can get some company funds from the local office," Alex said. "It means coming out, but they should cover for us now."

"They may not," Jason said. "I would assume that every company commo is being scanned. Besides, I can use my assets here." He could also check in with his family, hopefully before anyone gave them bad news. On the other hand, after the news might be better, so they realistically seemed shocked. Dammit, he didn't want to bring them into this. They deserved better, and he'd have to make amends.

"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.