Better to Beg Forgiveness-ARC by Michael Z. Williamson
The guards watched her approach and didn't make any serious attempt to stop her. They did keep hold of their weapons, and there were occasional hefts for reassurance. She wasn't a threat, but they certainly weren't going to just open the gate.
The question was, how corruptible were they? Most of this planet operated on bribes and payoffs, but there were always a few honest assholes screwing things up.
They were certainly happy to talk to her, and let her roll footage. So far, so good. Then she was commenting with a smile, and the men were posing with their weapons, hefting them and angling to show off muscle.
It did take a few minutes to soften them up. The problem was, they never moved far from their booth, no matter where she asked them to pose for photos. There was a clear limit on how long she could milk that.
"Guess we better start advancing," Aramis said.
"Yeah," Jason agreed. "We need to be there when something happens."
One at a time, Aramis first, they walked across the road trying to look at home. Aramis carried an empty box as a prop. If he could look like a delivery person or a scavenger, good.
He attracted a few looks from squatters, but his ragged coat and the box seemed to pass muster. He was left alone, and no type of alarm was sounded. He deliberately didn't look at his surroundings much, and not at Elke.
He sought more bushes and crawled in, once out of sight of the main road. He was surprised at how crappy the security really was. A good squad could blow through in seconds.
Of course, he noted, that would alert all kinds of people, and blow their cover. That wouldn't stop terrorists, but would stop stowaways and smugglers. Even that much was probably not from good planning, but that did not mean it wouldn't work against them.
Once in cover, he took a look for Elke. He was slightly closer and had a better angle here. There she was, and she'd run out of time.
Her cover as a reporter couldn't have lasted long, and then coming onto them had put her in a position of put up or shut up, or in this case, put out or shut up. They led her around the side of the building, and she was now in a position of assuming a position or starting a fight. He didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure which one she'd choose.
Jason wandered over clutching what looked like a bottle in a bag, with his ruck hung by one strap so he looked like a wandering derelict. That look was marred by a recent shave, but improved by some dirt. A slight surreptitious wave got his attention, and Aramis indicated Elke's position and "fight soon."
Jason raised a hand and signed, "You go, I follow."
Back on his feet, Aramis started walking, with the box. One could get quite close to almost anything by acting nonchalant or spaced out. He tried for both, and now he could see how things were developing.
Elke had let one of the guards get her against the wall in a dark shady spot, legs spread. She was pulling at her shirt, but obviously couldn't go more than another few seconds without actually having sex. There were possibly reasons she'd go that far. He couldn't believe this was one of them. He fought against quickening his pace. That would screw things up worse if seen. He did wiggle his baton out of his coat and wedge it behind the box.
Then it all went to hell. The guard was eager, and tried to clutch at her boobs and kiss her. She caught the incoming grab and twisted. She jackhammered her knee into his balls in a move so fast and balanced she had to have practiced, slam, slam, slam, slam. Despite his aching side, Aramis cringed. Damn.
The good news was both the guard and his buddy were busy. That meant just the one at the gatehouse was a problem. Their cab zipped in and slowed, braking in front of him, and Jason was closing, too.
Ten meters, Aramis thought. Close enough, but closer was better. He angled the baton behind the box and got ready to deploy it. If needed. Elke seemed to have both men under control, though it wouldn't be long before something blew the cover. Where was the cab now? There. They must be having fun trying to get the driver to arrive just at the right moment, he thought.
The decision was made when Jason said, "Now, kid." Aramis dropped the box at once, extended the baton at waist level, and point-shot. He was well within range for a good stun, and he had the power dialed up.
That was the moment when the fight turned to wrestling, and Elke got picked up and thrown. She blocked the charge perfectly, so she was unconscious when she hit the ground, and the second guard was unharmed and facing Aramis. Aramis swore, waited the half second for the baton to recharge while closing at a jog, and discharged it again.
Just as Elke recovered, jumped, and went for the guy. She wavered, stumbled, and fell, taking a fist in the eye more from accident than plan.
His swearing rose to a new crescendo. At that range, she'd be out for minutes instead of seconds. At that range, recharging was out of the question. They'd been told the baton cases were tough, and he gave it a real world test, braining the very confused guard, who collapsed over Elke, grinding her into the grass.
It was like a bad sensie.
He reached out and contact-zapped the one she'd kneed, who was recovering slowly but still wrapped around his crotch. Then he zapped the one twitching atop Elke, and grabbed him under the arms to heave him out of the way.
Elke's shirt was ripped, and yes, those were very nice boobs, and he grabbed her arm to heave her into a firefighter's carry, his rib screaming at him. He rose carefully, turned, and jogged around the building, baton ready in case there was a fight still ongoing—unlikely, but today had not been a good day.
He saw feet stretched out, and then a torso, and Jason standing over the body. A moment later, he reached inside and slapped the switch for the gate, as Bal opened the door and Aramis shoved Elke's form onto the seat. Alex propped her upright, Jason jumped in the bed and reached a hand down for Aramis, and as soon as he was in, Jason slapped the cab and Bart took off. The driver seemed to be sitting shaking in the rear. His eyes were hugely wide and terrified.
Elke woke up and was ticked. "I tode you kozoks it wouldn' work! Kurva drát." she slurred. "He wanted to take me to the guard shack so his friend could watch!"
Aramis flushed. Watching Elke struck him as a pretty good idea. Watching her with another guy . . . no. He couldn't say why that was the first thought he had under the circumstances.
Recovering, she said, "Hand me my bag." It was behind him in the stack, luckily on the right, so he grabbed it, pulled and twisted it out of the pile, turned around, and said, "Erk!"
She was naked and wiping her face down with a bleached towel from Jason. Aramis tried not to stare as she grabbed a blouse from the top of her kit, wiggled into it with some very interesting stretches and contortions, and got fastened. Slacks followed as she arched into them.
So that was what Elke looked like.
Damn. That was a story to tell over beers at some point.
Jason had already cleaned up, and the others were taking turns, except Bart who was driving. Jason reached around from behind to help Bart clean his face and neck. Aramis grabbed the towel and swiped at his armpits to kill bacteria, staying above the glued and bandaged gash. His shirt was unbuttoned and it came off at a tug, then Alex helped him slip into a new one. By the time they pulled onto the drop off area for the port, everyone was presentable, even if Bart was still wiggling into pants.
"So, we're inside the zone and safer, in that anything in the zone is considered to be cleared. Any ID check will be cursory," Alex said, "except that we've triggered somebody's alarms. At the same time, they're looking for threats, which is not us now. Stand by."
Alex pulled out his phone, inserted the capacitor, and punched a number manually. When he got an answer he said, "No, I don't want to talk to the officer in charge, I want to talk to the NCO who knows what's going on. Yes, it's me. I have twenty seconds and have to be discreet. Can you give me a distraction, and I mean a big one, right now in your area? You need to be overrun by skinnies, dire wolves, aliens, Elvis, and Godzilla. Just make a whole bunch of noise. Yes, I kno
"I want to hear that story," Elke said.
"I am sworn to secrecy, but we have some distraction."
Aramis pondered while they traveled. He hadn't really expected to go this far. He intellectually had known what he was agreeing to with this bailout. But to actually go this far, and shoot the guard he'd shot the night before, was really pushing the envelope. He didn't think he could be mindwiped; it would be hard to get a jury sympathetic to chanting gangs and cops. Still, the risk was there, and life in prison was a given. Hell, he'd just started living. He'd damned near died, too, he recalled, his side seizing up again.
A lesser but valid threat was that they'd squeak out in court, broke, booted, and with no credibility. That would mean scut jobs, or else going back to school for credentials in something that didn't require high levels of responsibility.
The alternative was to attempt to write memoirs and produce a documentary. It was even possible that fat bastard leMieure would be interested in it. That would actually be a good thing, because if Aramis was going to be nailed for something, he wanted it to be for smearing that piece of dog shit across the concrete personally.
He realized the rest were looking at him, and that he was grinning.
Once at the terminal they piled out of the cab, immediately split into three groups again, and Aramis wound up with Jason. Bart shoved money at the driver and said, "Take this vehicle and get lost for the day." The driver nodded as if he had a spring in his neck, climbed in, and zoomed off.
Aramis and Jason were far enough from the others to appear unrelated, but close enough to offer backup. They milled around looking for security threats and schedules.
"There's the tramp flight to Grainne I marked," Jason said quietly as he scanned the departure screen. "Its departure is moved up. We need to board a shuttle now."
"Want to suggest a method of getting aboard?" Aramis asked. He had no idea what to do about this.
"I advise against stowing away at this end. Strongly. I think we're going to have to go up and get aboard while they're loading cargo. That gives us about twenty hours. Kinda tight."
"And once we do that?" Alex asked, wandering by.
"Then we negotiate."
"Guns or money?"
"Both."
Off to the side, Bart walked up to a man, squatted down next to his chair, and started talking. There was some disagreement, some anger, but in a few moments the man stood. Some exchange took place and Bart returned.
"I told him to disappear for the morning, to catch a later flight with a different ticket," he offered quietly.
"You're saying that a lot."
"It works," Bart grinned down from his two-meter height. Around here he was not just large, he was a monster. That also made him visible.
There was always a security issue with bribing someone, and that is that they stay bribed. The additional risk here was that it was possible the people whose seats they had were needed or expected. The kind of person who'd skip a flight and let their identity be assumed was either careless, criminal, questionably honest, or likely to turn in a report as soon as they'd made the cash go away.
Jason led the way over to an automated ticket booth that did have a face scanner. It took him only a few moments to slip a stocking mask on, punch buttons, grab a ticket, and unmask as soon as the screen blanked. Aramis followed, feeling obvious and stupid with the mesh over his face. The machine took his cash, but he was all too glad to get done and look unobtrusive again. He was in pain as he sat down, but once he did so he found a position that wasn't too bad.
"I must try to draw cash," Bal put in from the seat next to Aramis. "If Rahul was able to arrange it, I have some waiting I can draw in a moderate sum. Please let me know so I can make that very close to our departure."
"That would be now," Jason said, and rose to escort him.
For Aramis, there was nothing to do but wait for departure.
CHAPTER 26
The flight was not full, but it was not run by a local enterprise, so there was no concern about squeezing every penny out. Bal trembled in nervousness though he wouldn't admit it. His nation had abandoned him. The comments around him were frustrating and saddening. Kaporta was ten times the nation Celadon was, and his friends still regarded it as a primitive backwater to be exploited.
At no point, however, had they treated him as less than a man or a leader. They were risking their lives for him, likely to no avail. BuState would call him a criminal and jail him at best, mock him and humiliate him into obscurity at worst.
He realized his own violent experiences in life were very shallow in a certain context. Within the last forty-two hours, this group had killed, stolen, burned, lied, and abused authority to get him to safety. Two had been lightly injured, and Aramis taken a moderate wound right through armor designed to stop it. He had no doubt there were people in his clan and in the Bodyguard who would kill to protect him. He couldn't imagine anyone save Rahul would go as far as his mercenaries, and he'd known Rahul for fifty years.
He worried again about Abirami. As far as she would know within a few hours, he was dead. If he managed to find exile, she might meet up with him in a year or more. There was a possibility that with enough liquid assets and off-planet resources he could create new identities for her and the children. He could be a normal person.
For her, he'd do that. For himself, he'd almost rather be dead, because it was too ignominious to consider. But she and the children deserved whatever he could offer, even if it was only obscurity.
The worst part was that leMieure would not be called to account. The risk to Bishwanath's family was too great. His love for them exceeded his hatred for that thing. That was unjust but unavoidable.
As far as this extraction, he was along for the ride only, able to offer nothing except the trinkets he'd already donated for the coffers, and the money Rahul had just made available. He'd planned for that because it was impossible to survive in this culture without hidden assets. One never put all one's cards out, or wasted so much as a pawn without advantage. Resources were scarce. He was also elated that his friend and assistant was alive and hidden. That was a load off his shoulders for his own safety, since Rahul in hiding would never talk, and for Rahul's.
These people casually tossed away resources he'd kill to have. Part of that was necessity, but part of it was cultural. They did so because they could. It might be a tough decision at times, as with Alex and his fine binoculars, or Jason with a weapon, but they could make that decision. Just the quandary was more than most people here, Bishwanath included, could rationally entertain.
It was one more example of why nothing BuState did was going to work.
He smiled at that. If thinking about work would keep his mind off mundane, life-threatening issues, then he should go over his cabinet and budget again.
He felt the craft move, then roll. Lifting . . . and that was good, but they were not clear and wouldn't be while in this system. Every flight was by definition scheduled and monitored, and there were limited routes and ships available.
It was ten interminable minutes to atmospheric ceiling, and the draft of cold air from the vents didn't help to stop him from sweating.
Then the rockets kicked in, tossing them into orbit. Chemical rockets, and even if they were hydrogen-fluorine with some kind of expansion mass fed in, they were old-fashioned, violent, and loud. The rawness reminded him of the home he was leaving and might never see again.
The physical and psychological stress of it reduced the other stress for a time. Around him, he could peripherally see the others sweating and gripping their couches. The gees were maintaining, and there was this sensation of speed from the engine thrust.
* * *
Weilhung didn't think anyone here knew what they were doing. He was fine with t
DeWitt had given up trying to talk sense to his boss, and it was hard to blame him. He was reduced to pissing on the resultant fires and pretending to be unavailable. He could do that because his boss was an idiot. Weilhung had Weygandt, who still thought he was running this op, as if he ever had in any capacity save signing papers, and a general who wanted results at a higher level, who was at least willing to pay to relocate the Recon element. Weygandt was no idiot, though.
Of course, Weygandt was tied up trying to prove an "attack" north of here, against a Ripple Creek element that handled security for the BuCommerce operation, was fake and a cover for Marlow. Of course it was fake. Sure it would end their contract if proven. Of course everything, up to and including everything had to be dropped in case some billionaire, his wench, or deputy catch a stray round. At the same time, not only would the billionaires back their bodyguards, it wasn't critical to follow up now. What was critical was catching Marlow, who had to be in orbit by now.