Better to Beg Forgiveness

by Michael Z. Williamson

Once through the hatch, he asked, "Was that commo legit?"

  "I have no idea," Jason said, meeting his eyes. "Oh, it sounds legit. I can't imagine they don't update like that. But no, I can't promise you there's no embedded code screaming to come and get us."

  "Six more days, right?" Alex asked tiredly. It just never got better.

  "Six days."

  ****

  Horace didn't mind being crammed into the bed too much. At least it was a bed. Actually, it was quite comfortable. While the quarters were small, the roommates were courteous in the extreme, and quiet. Considering the open sky, bushes, rat-infested thatched cottages, or any number of other places he'd slept, it was choice.

  "Four kings. Pay up."

  "Christ, I'm dying here," he heard.

  He rolled toward the middle, blinked, and looked.

  Poker game. Jason, Aramis, Elke, and Bal. They were playing for . . .

  "How many is that?" Jason asked, dropping between the bunks into forward leaning rest position.

  "One sixty."

  "Right."

  Push-ups. They were gambling for push-ups in half G.

  Despite his complaints, Jason knocked out a hundred sixty push-ups straight through with barely a pause at one-thirty-five. His form was excellent, though he was starting to shake at the end. He wondered how many previous sets had they all done?

  He rose, groaning, and Elke dropped. She strained starting around eighty, but she did make it.

  Bal said, "I shall not shame you with the attempt. Add it to my tab I still hope to pay."

  "Bored, are we?" Horace asked.

  "Hey, it's something to do, and we get some exercise, and we don't go bugfuck," Aramis said, as Elke just shrugged.

  It did make sense, and summed up the situation so perfectly. They were warriors, willing to fight against extreme odds. Sitting in a cell hoping for safety was out of character for them.

  "I hope you are not doing push-ups, Aramis?" Horace said while looking over the boy's bandaged side and slung arm.

  "I'm doing leg lifts," he said, looking frustrated. "I'll have to recuperate and work back up to push-ups and such." Indeed he would. There was a chunk of flesh missing from his side that was healing up for now and would have to be regrown later. At first it had looked like a scratch, but the damage had been almost deep enough to puncture a lung. It was a good lesson about wounds, not that it was needed with this group.

  They were well into Sol System and heading back out. Horace found it ironic to be traveling so close to Earth and not stop. All of them save Jason had looked wistfully out the port, even though they never got close enough for Earth to be more than a dot. Even Jason had taken a glimpse or two, though that might have been just to pass the time.

  Horace wasn't clear on the physics of modern space drives. He knew that energetic H-F chemical and certain nuclear-heated engines were used from surface to orbit, and that intrasystem cargo usually used ion drives that were steadily gaining in efficiency. The ships that drove to the Jump Points and through, however, used their energy not as reaction mass, but to travel lines of force in space itself. That process got more efficient further out from gravitational fields such as stars, but took substantial energy to generate the fields needed regardless of where. So once at a good clip, there was no need to boost as they were traveling at a speed appropriate for a Jump and fast enough not to waste much in the way of resources in flight. Much of the trip was in micro G, with only occasional thrust corrections. The ship was spun for centrifugal gravity, so it wasn't as awkward as it had been at times near the Jumps Points.

  On the sixth morning ship's time, sitting after waking up, he commented to Elke, "I know we are not more at risk based on distance to Earth, but I feel relieved at being only a few hours out."

  Alex sprawled above, ostensibly trying to sleep, though the man was not getting enough and Horace had cut him off from chemical assistance.

  "It's normal human reaction," he said. "The unseen is less of a threat, which is actually stupid when you get down to it, but our hindbrains aren't that smart." He didn't open his eyes, which Horace took to mean he really was trying to sleep. He raised a finger to his lips and Elke nodded.

  ****

  Bart was on shift with Aramis, and it was hard not to dope off. It had to be harder for Aramis with his injury and drugs. Their attention had to be on the crew, so talking to keep occupied was contraindicated. They could take turns interacting with the crew from a safe distance, but the crew had duties of their own.

  Schlenker was matter-of-fact and treated them with a professional contempt. Gina was a little frosty but nice enough. That the team had all been perfect ladies and gentlemen, not offering any impropriety, had to help the situation. Gina seemed very much set on manners. Darwin, ship's engineer, didn't interact with anyone much, sticking to his controls here and below. Third Officer Radaman clearly didn't like them. He was the potential threat to watch.

  Bart quivered alert, because the crew were all looking back and forth, agitated themselves and discussing something through their mics.

  "What is happening?" he demanded.

  Schlenker looked up and said, "We are being challenged by a Space Patrol vessel. What do you want us to do?" She was defiant, dropping the problem in his lap with obvious satisfaction.

  "Boss, get up here now," Bart said into his mic. "Please put it on speaker," he said.

  She touched a control and he heard, ". . . you are ordered to cut thrust and stand down. This is advice of our intent to perform a safety inspection."

  Schlenker eyed Bart, saw that there was no budging, and did nothing yet. Good.

  Because Bart also had no idea what to do.

  Alex slammed through the hatch, pistol drawn, and put it away as soon as he saw things were still under control.

  "What's up?" he asked.

  "Heave-to order from Space Patrol," Schlenker informed him.

  "What if we don't?"

  She sighed. "Potentially, they shoot us, though I doubt they will actually waste a missile but they may beam us and wipe out the electronics. Practically, they'll relay a message on the next ship through with a summons, which I'll have to obey next time I come here. I doubt Grainne will do anything, but I'll be out of business and my investors will have to take a bite."

  "That's all?" Alex asked. "Okay, run."

  "It'd take a death threat to make me do that, Mister Smith."

  "Consider it done." Bart twitched inside, in humor and horror. He'd learned not to call bluff with Alex in poker. Alex didn't bluff. He didn't even pause as he drew his pistol again.

  Schlenker, to give her credit, didn't flinch. She sat up in her couch and challenged him.

  "Mister Smith," she said, slowly, "I'm aware you can fly without me. I'm hoping you have some kind of common sense to go with your tactical brilliance, and some humanity, too. We're not getting out of this without a fight. I'd prefer not to be in the crossfire, or my crew. If you want to actually hijack us and put us on a boat, Space Patrol can rescue us, and you can have the ship. I hate like hell doing it, but at least I'm absolved of some of the guilt. I can say you overpowered me."

  Seconds ticked by as the rest of the team trickled in, in pairs. The silence stretched out.

  "GCS George, this is Space Patrol cutter Sark, repeating our instruction to cut boost and stand down for safety inspection." The voice on the far end didn't sound in good humor.

  Jason climbed over to a console and grabbed a headset from Gina, who now looked suitably scared, with something like a frigaten outside and armed hijackers inside. She let him take it.

  "Sark, this is George, Second Officer speaking. Ironically, we're having a control problem at this moment. I guess we're going to have trouble with the inspection, but we're probably going to be glad you're along. Please give us a moment to bypass some code and wire, and we'll cut boost."

  To the eyes on him he said, "Well, we are having a control problem. Who's in charge?"

  It was a val
id question.

  The expressions ran from amusement to annoyance to utter despair. Bart was somewhat amused, but this was too tense for much humor.

  Bal stepped forward and said, "Ma'am, let me be honest with you. I'm Balaji Bishwanath."

  Schlenker jerked and said, "Wait, I know that name."

  "Yes, I was President of Celadon. I shall not go into the machinations here, but these are my contract bodyguard, who decided they would remove me from the mob before I was made to fit a press release. If I can get to Grainne, there is a chance I can get the word out, which will mean a great many ramifications. But I will offer all my assets not spoken for as collateral, which are enough to pay for this ship. I think. Barely."

  Bart thought the man was hedging his bet too much. This ship likely cost a substantial chunk of the value of Celadon's entire economy. Not that it was that pricey a ship, but a few million was enough. Nor was there any guarantee of reaching his assets . . . or did he have some stashed in a numbered account?

  Schlenker stared at him for long seconds. Finally, she said, "So these nutcases agreed to disobey orders, shoot through a mob, hijack ships, threaten, intimidate, lie to civil authority, stow away, and smuggle you into another system, hoping their asses would be covered at the far end?"

  "So it seems."

  "You guys are Ripple Creek contractors," she said.

  "I guess we have to admit that," Alex said.

  "You have a hell of a reputation," she said. Her jaw moved as if she was chewing.

  She continued, "And you must be one hell of a man, Mister President, if they'll abandon that kind of money to save your ass."

  She turned to a console, and said over her shoulder to Jason, "Pilot dude, whatever your name is, you feed them more bullshit. Everyone else grab onto something. This ship is rated for three Gs, but I've never tried more than two and change. Now's the time."

  She sat down, fastened a harness, and started fingering controls.

  "Because it looks like my only option for keeping my ship. You understand I am not happy about this." Her expression was icy.

  Bart said, "None of us are, Captain. I have a list of people who must be spoken to at some point." Oh, yes, he did.

  "You speak," she replied, eyes on her screen, jaw tight. "I'll be swinging a bat. Boost in fifteen seconds," she advised.

  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 the new weight loss fad, though.