The crew were efficient. Power came back, control came back, Gina resumed her couch and reported that Star Guard was holding off. He gathered that was significant, even though they'd committed no violations here yet. At least he didn't think so. They weren't offering threats at the moment. Catching Jason's eye, he asked, "What's with the Star Guard?"
"Ah, paramilitary rescue. Space Patrols are like surface Coast Guards. They're obligated to provide aid. Star Guard is part of the military. They can charge fees or demand a percentage as salvage. You don't call them if you don't have to. Besides, we'd stand out."
"So what now?"
"Now," Schlenker said, "we warp into the station. Nitpicky navigation and thrust, as close as we can get before we start paying for station control. We dock. You give me the money you agreed to, valid assurance on the rest, and then . . ."
She took a breath and finished, "You get the fuck off my ship and never come back. Oh yes, and whoever you know had better start vouching or I've made my last trip to Sol System."
"That will take about ten to twelve days," Alex said.
" 'Ten to twelve days,' " she repeated. "Because?"
"Well, Mister Bishwanath is officially dead."
"I see," she said. "That wasn't a part of the news I'd picked up on. So not only is he wanted, he's also . . . not wanted."
"Exactly."
"And you intend to address this."
"Once we can reach broadcast facilities, yes."
"I think I should stop listening now. You will give me those assurances now or I'm going to turn into a first class bitch the second you're off the ship. Unless you intend to hijack it now, without enough fuel to go anywhere."
"We do have some negotiating to do, don't we?" Alex said.
"Yes. Yes we do." She ran a hand through her sweaty hair and stared at him in challenge.
Bart cut in long enough to ask, "Permission to go below."
It was hysterically funny to his fatigued but relieved brain that both Alex and Schlenker simultaneously replied, "Granted."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Are we sure they're heading down?" Captain Nugent asked.
"We're pretty sure now," Weilhung agreed. "They are in the Grainne system. I can't imagine they'll stay in a station. If they leave, we will nail any ship as it goes through a Jump. I believe they could only make the one jump and chose that on purpose." His office wasn't as comfortable as the former palace, but it was certainly more secure, and even more so with AF STs guarding the gates and facilities. Listening to them whine about working with the Army was icing on the cake.
The problem now was that everything Marlow did involved cash and he couldn't simply call up files or compel assistance. Nor did Weilhung have much in the way of immediate threats to use for coercion against accessories. Grainne was sticky about extradition. They liked to rant about their colonial rights and invoke the American colonies. Although, he admitted, he did respect the fact they didn't play lapdog, but it was a pain in his ass at the present time.
On the other hand, it was the one colonial government that didn't try to stop individual entry. His call had a platoon go through on private passports and ID, unquestioned, though doubtless, the chartered luxoboat had drawn attention. Attention was fine, as long as no one could prove the matter.
"Then where, is the question," Nugent said. His tendency to think out loud could be annoying. He was methodical and cautious, and some people mistook that for slow. Weilhung had not made that mistake when he met Nugent as a lieutenant, and did not make it now. The man had a very keen, deductive mind. You just had to give him time to work.
"Bishwanath would have been more comfortable on Salin," Nugent said. "He would have had better support from his own people. He would have known where to hide. So he is not going there to hide."
"Correct. Whatever he's doing there, I don't expect him to stay there. He may lie low for a while, send for assets, and then relocate. We're watching his family on Earth, and looking for bank transfers coming in. I should say, BuState is, through Justice."
They'd been through this every day for the last week. All they could do was keep rehashing it with each day's added facts brought in.
It was a damned shame they couldn't collar Schlenker or her crew. The problems being that compelling them to speak would mean an international incident, it was entirely likely she knew nothing, and subtle inquiries to that effect, which were ongoing, had to be very subtle because word could also travel back the other way. Still, the word through her company was that bribes had been offered. If she didn't get a balance soon, she might be agreeable. In the meantime, neither her ship nor the two co-owned by the same investor could enter UN space. The Colonial Alliance was considering coming onboard with that, as a show of solidarity with Earth's nations. Of course, if Earth's nations had been able to make individual decisions, things would be a lot different and, ironically, the damned Colonials would be less concerned about their positions. All of that was a show of independence to slap Earth with.
On a side note, Weilhung wondered what would happen when all these systems started declaring independence and becoming rightful nations, but not on Earth. That would certainly make things like this tougher, with more than one "real" planetary system.
"You know, Johnny," he said, "I am so glad I don't have to listen to Fatfuck whine about how unfair it is we can't just extradite. I got to watch deWitt explain to him the whole dreary process to get someone out of this system. That was choice."
"I hear you, boss. I'll stick to military issues."
It was more than a dreary process. Prove Schlenker was a willing accomplice to Marlow in front of a Grainnean judge. Ask them to hold an inquest here to determine extradition. If that was proven, then ask for that extradition. In the meantime, she was under no legal obligation to attend and could not be restrained. Bastards.
Back to the matter at hand.
"We need to look at what facilities are there that aren't on Salin," he said.
"Besides everything, boss?" Nugent grinned and leaned back in his chair. His hair was just long enough to leave untanned spots on his forehead, even above the helmet line. Under those lines, his eyes rolled and his mouth twisted. "Military force isn't relevant. The courts are favorable, so that's one, but it won't keep him safe. He doesn't know that we can't kill him. He knows it is possible others could. He is not more discreet; he drew attention to himself going there. There is more of a banking sector. There is greater political pull than Salin, obviously. There is not as much as Novaja Rossia or Caledonia. There are better assets for publicity . . ." Nugent stopped.
"Publicity."
"He wants it known he's alive." Nugent placed his hands on the table and looked forward now.
That had to be it. The Colonials handled their own media. It could easily be stopped in Sol System, but stopping it going from system to system was virtually impossible.
"First we have to send a message to every UN media corp to keep silent on this. They'll invoke free speech, so . . . no, fuck that," Weilhung decided. "LeMieure wants to handle the political end, send him a message, he can deal with that shit. We do our job, he does his."
"That could mean Bishwanath will have time to get away."
"I really don't have a problem with that. He's supposed to be dead, let's call him dead. Marlow owes us, though. He owes us big. We focus on them. If we get Bishwanath, fine. If not, we can't be nailed for not finding a corpse."
"What do we do, then?"
"Do? You and I do nothing, Johnny. We send a team closer to the fight and take the credit for leadership. First Platoon's already through and in Grainne space."
"That's not as fulfilling," Nugent said.
"No, but it is as effective."
****
Almost done, Elke thought. Almost done, and everyone alive. Beat to hell, angry from dealing with zkurvený idiots, but alive.
It was pretty clear that half the crew were fine with the assurances, and the other half expec
ted to get screwed over. They didn't seem to doubt the money existed. They figured Alex was tricky enough to make it not happen. There were mere hours before docking and the tension was rising on a curve.
So they kept watch. Four on, two off, Bishwanath confined to quarters where he was protected by at least three people and numerous devices, with a space suit on and O2 ready in case of a breach. There was no love lost here. Amazing. They'd been friends right after surviving the boarding threat and the Jump, and now they were back to a troubled détente.
It was odd to be "sitting" watch while floating in micro G, but that was the term in English. She sat watch quietly, unobtrusively, blending into the scenery. Growing up, she'd hated her slim size and self-effacing manner. Although, she couldn't have hated it too much, she reflected, as she'd never done anything about that image. On the other hand, once in the National Force, she'd recognized it as an asset and cultivated it. People never noticed her. She was just the nerd in the back.
She ran explosive calculations to stay awake. How much and what shape for a bridge abutment? What about a reinforced wall? A titalloy vault door? Another part of her brain planned for contingencies on landing, which left part of her forebrain to watch the goings-on as the crew navigated and maneuvered. No threatening gestures, just business as usual.
She barely paid attention until she heard Radaman say, "Harap ganti pakai Bahasa, saya ada informasi untuk disambungkan."
She snapped alert, kicked the bulkhead behind her, and stopped two meters back from the mate. She was close enough to kill him, too far for him to reach. "You will not switch to Bahasa Indonesia and you do not have information to relay," she said with a viperlike tone. "You can conduct all this in English, just as I do. Now, you will tell the controller a dirty joke in Bahasa, and switch immediately back to English. I know enough to follow that. If you say something I don't follow, we will immediately have what might be called a 'situation.' Do you understand?"
"Yes. Ma'am." The man was totally cowed.
"You will do everything in English until we reach our destination. Unless you would like to use Czech, German, Spanish, or French?"
"Um, no."
"Good choice."
She kept her eyes on him as she kicked her way back across the bridge.
There was no need, as she saw it, to mention a demolition contract she'd had supporting engineers in the Sulawan Shoals as they built an artificial island. Her Bahasa was atrocious, but it wasn't a complex language and she recognized enough to grasp the gist. Since TanCorp out of Sulawan had been the primary developer of Grainne, it was convenient. Jason likely was passable at it, so he should switch to another shift. In fact, it might be necessary to have everyone on shift on arrival, she considered.
****
Jason wanted to feel relieved. He still felt impending disaster was possible.
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 interr
upt, 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.
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