Better to Beg Forgiveness (47 page)

Massa said nothing, and in fact it was impossible to tell if he knew or cared or not. Weilhung expected leMieure to go bugfuck over the fact, but the ignorant sod didn't seem aware of the relevance. That was a small mercy.

LeMieure said, "I have an important appointment. You'll have to deal with this yourselves, as best you are able." With that, he left, with Rawls scuttling along behind.

They all stared. Nothing was said until deWitt summed it up with, "I'm glad it's Colonel Weygandt doing the reports on this and not me."

"So, you've got our order to shut the starport down," Weilhung said, hating it but realizing the necessity.

"Yes," deWitt said, not looking happy himself. "I sent that advice to LeMieure, who forwarded it when he was done with whatever he was doing at the time."

Weilhung thought that delay, no matter how short it was, might have been too much. He was of mixed feelings about that.

By daybreak, the team was near the spaceport. They were also dripping sweat, caked in dust, and generally not much to look at. They fit in well.

"I should move here when I retire," Bart said. "I can buy a Mercedes and four rocket launchers for less than a thousand marks." He meant it in humor. "And get two free machine guns."

"Hey, we were in a hurry both times," Vaughn said tiredly. "I only sold at twenty on the mark. Alex pretty much gave the car away."

"Yes, but it was an infinite return on your investment," Bal chuckled. "One can't complain about that."

"We can always complain," Anderson said. "That's what soldiers do, Bal." Though he hadn't said much about the laceration along his ribs, which had peeled skin down to the bone. Bart was impressed. Most people would have been on the ground from that. Anderson had run a couple of kilometers and rucked more, with straps running over the wound.

The trip had been a combination of cadging rides on trucks, walking, and running. They would need to clean up and rest before too long, but they also needed to hurry. Word was getting out about their escape.

They also had a professionally guarded spaceport in front of them, Bart reflected with disgust and approval. Even if they were safe in an abandoned storefront for now, one of several in the area, they would have to tackle the gate soon, before it was sealed against them.

"I see several ways in," Vaughn said. "The problem is that we don't want to come up out of the ditches or sewers or on the launch line for sabotage. We want to come up as passengers."

"We need to go through the front," Alex said, "then disappear into the crowd. The problem is buying tickets for cash."

"Are we sure they have our pictures?" Anderson asked.

"Are we sure they do not?" Elke replied. She was right, Bart realized.

"Do we want to try to sell the carbines and grenade launchers?" Vaughn asked.

Marlow shook his head. "I hate like hell wasting the asset, but there is no fucking way to get them aboard and we won't need more than pistols in space. The longer we hang around, the greater the risk of discovery."

"So we dump them." Vaughn sounded as if he was cutting a leg off. The man really liked guns. "I really wanted to take this AK with me." He held up the archaic weapon he'd lugged all this way.

"Leave them in here," Bart said. "It could be the former tenant will return and will have a gift to sell to restart his business. We can consider it a gift for breaking in."

"Makes sense. Out of sight, out of mind." Vaughn started slimming the bags down. The goal was to get to one carry-on each.

"Cut the mass way down," Marlow said. "If need be, we buy clothes and toiletries on the way. If need be, we share."

"I will share a toothbrush with Elke," Bart said. "But I will not wear her underwear."

"You assume I wear any," Elke grinned. "Though I prefer boxers with lots of room in front."

Marlow put down his pocket binox, carefully slipped them into the case, and handed them back.

"Abandon these, too," he said. Bart could tell it was painful. "It's mass we don't need. I'll recover the cost later."

If we do not wind up in jail,
Bart thought.

Elke was actually hugging her shotgun and misty-eyed. "I must leave you now, Pierce," she said to it, and handed it slowly to Jason. She suddenly looked much less sure of herself.

Marlow picked up the outline. "Okay, we've got the gate and fence. We've got seven of us, one wounded. We need to distract the guards long enough to drive into the terminal, abandon the vehicle, then buy tickets without being seen."

"The last part is probably doable," Vaughn said. "Mesh over the face blurs features enough that an auto search won't find it."

That made sense, Bart thought.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure enough," Vaughn said. "I don't see that we have too many options."

"So that just leaves getting through the gate and inside," Bal said. "How do we propose to do that?"

"Well, Elke . . ." Anderson hinted, looking at her. Bart took a moment to figure it out. Oh.

"Yes?" she replied.

"You know. You could distract him."

" 'Distract him'?" she repeated.

"Yes, act sexy and interested. You know."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Oh, that'll never work. You watch too much vid."

It wasn't the cliché concept that had Bart wondering, but was her very manly, dirty, functional style of dress.

"He's male. It'll work."

Vaughn said, "I'm inclined to agree with that part, but I'm not sure it's a sound plan overall."

"Even if it works, it will take an hour of convo to get anywhere," she said.

"Five minutes," Anderson argued. "Act wide-eyed and interested. He's a soldier, you're press, you're fascinated by his killer instinct."

"Ah, is that what works on you?" she asked, eyes rolling again. She was starting to flush a little. She wasn't embarrassed by herself, Bart realized, but by how people reacted to her.

Anderson stuttered, then said, "It'll work. Get him clear and you can be a distraction behind. Heck, you could probably persuade two of them." He was clearly hurting. Every move of his ribs made him twitch. Shaman held up a painkiller, and he agreed to it with a wave and a nod.

"Oh, kinky," she said. "Fine. It's worth a try, but I have a bad feeling."

"Oh, go for it." He made shooing motions. "Give us a few minutes to get a cab."

She dropped her gear, picked the valise back up, and looped the camera strap around her neck. Wiping and slapping off as much dust as possible, she rose and strode straight into the street at a measured pace: fast enough to not be suspicious, slow enough not to appear a threat.

Getting a cab was easy. Several were leaving the port and it just took flagging one down. However, the driver looked at their appearance and balked.

Luckily, it took a minimal bribe to get him not to care. It was an axiom that people offering money didn't turn around and hijack you. At least, not if the money offered exceeded the maximum amount they knew you could carry. He obviously knew they were up to something, but the cabbie had likely seen far more unusual things so far. Bart believed they were about to raise that bar. He climbed in the passenger side while Bal, Shaman, and Marlow climbed in the rear.

Jason used the sensors he'd salvaged, and watched around the corner by microcam, lucky bastard. Aramis had to sneak a peek near ground level, but there was a hydrant that would cut most of his head from being visible. That also reduced his window, but that was a worthwhile trade. He ignored the flaming pain in his side. The painkiller was dropping it to a hot ache, anyway.

The guards did see Elke, and their eyes followed, but whether they were interested or just watching her as traffic was hard to say. She crossed the broad but lightly traveled street with her fake camera in hand, not quite in "use" but obviously her reason for being there.

Then she gave them a slight wave, nod, and smile.

The guards grinned back, showing lots of healthy teeth. They might have wiry, almost skeletal bodies, but their teeth were to be envied.

Elke sauntered up. What she really needed to do was sashay, though without overdoing it. Maybe she couldn't manage that. Or, he reflected, she may not have had any idea how to sashay at all.

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.