Steven Brust - My Own Kind of Freedom

What was it about that ship that had gotten Asher House so excited? There were no active warrants on the captain, just a string of dropped charges; so what else did they have? Or who else?

Could it be a who? There had been the instructions to meet with someone and negotiate a price for information. The captain didn’t have the information, so someone else on the ship did. Someone who would what, sell out that captain? But the same problem kept returning, in new forms: what could the House want so badly that they’d blow an eight-month operation for it, just at the point it was about to pay off? And how could he have never heard a whisper of something that big?

He turned back to his gear and pondered.

One eye on the beacon, one eye on the glide plane, he slid through the increasingly thick atmo. It was just as well that this sort of flying required almost no thought, because his mind was on everything else.

What was going on with Zoë?

He knew that tone Mal had used—that too-too-calm sign-off. There was something going on.

His hand twitched toward the comm, then back.

Gorram it, he would not break into whatever they were in the middle of, just because he was worried. He would not. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been in tight scrapes before. And it wasn’t as if there were anything he could do that he wasn’t doing—that is, getting back there as fast as he could.

As fast as he could would be a good ten minutes. A lot could happen in ten minutes.

What was going on with Zoë?

He heard a footstep behind him, and almost lost his groove. He spared a glance over his shoulder.

“River! Uh, hello there.”

“You should.”

He looked at the yoke, the I-set, the gravlock, the attitude controls, and realized suddenly how little pressure it would take on any one of how many things to send them crashing onto the world. “Maybe this isn’t the place you should be right now.”

“You should call,” said River.

He spared her another look. Her eyes were slightly wide, her hands were in fists at her sides, and she wasn’t moving at all.

“I should… you mean, I should get hold of Zoë and Mal? I’m still ten minutes away, there’s nothing I can do yet. And if I interrupt them in the middle of something—”

“You don’t fix faith; it fixes you,” she said, and turned around and left the bridge.

He let out his breath, not having been aware of holding it, and checked his glide path again. All was well.

You don’t fix faith…

Now what did that mean?

The comm crackled. “Mal? What’s going on down there?”

“Hi hun,” said Zoë. “Nothing much. We’re being shot at.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Pretty much.”

“Are you shooting back?”

“Haven’t quite figured out how to do that, yet.”

“Then why aren’t you out of there?”

“Can’t. The g-line got shot out.”

“ Bei yachi yange de shuiniu de zinü. Can you get out of the shuttle?”

“Not just at the moment. There are at least six of them, I think, and they’re sort of shooting at the door.”

“You could turn the shuttle around.”

“Without the grav-boot?”

“Yes.”

She could almost see the Captain’s ears perk up, and he silently mouthed, “You can?”

“Wash, tell me how.”

“Over-ride the wing controls so they don’t extend. You know how to do that?”

Zoë looked over the controls. “I don’t—”

“Left side, under the console. It’s a small silver switch labeled S.E. Over.”

“Got it.”

“Okay. Nose all the way down. All the way, like you’re doing a full power dive. Then you give it some juice. Just a little; too much and you’ll flip her.”

“Okay.”

“Then both bow attitude jets on full, then yank the yoke hard around in whichever direction you want to turn. You’ll have to cut the attitude jets fast when you get about forty percent of the way to where you want to be.”

“Forty percent? How—”

“Guess.”

“Okay, Wash. I’ve got it.”

She began setting it up, going over the controls carefully.

“Hey, Wash,” said the Captain.

“Yes, Mal?”

“What did you call about?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“It was something the Shepherd said, about believing River.”

“You’re going to have to explain that to me later.”

“I’ll try.”

“Ready, sir,” said Zoë.

“Talk to you later, Wash,” said the Captain. Then, “Zoë, let’s get some outside light. I want to see if we can find some cover on the starboard side. If this works, we’re going to have to make a fast break for it.”

She flipped on the externals while he stared out. Several more bullets thwanged into the shuttle. “ Hundan are trying to kill an innocent shuttle,” he said. “Okay. See that rock, the big one?”

“I see it.”

“Lot of trees around it. That’s what we make for.”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded and positioned himself by the door once more.

She ran her hands over the controls she’d need, in order, twice.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Me, too.”

“You’d better hold on to something, sir.”

“I’m holding. Let’s do this thing.”

“Yes, sir.”

She pushed the yoke forward. No response, of course, beyond a little pressure. She took a deep breath, and, as she let it out, and gave it some throttle, then a little more, then—.

The vessel shuddered, and the tail rose; she was looking hard at the ground. Behind her she heard the Captain catch his footing.

She fired up both attitude thrusters and spun hard, and there was a lurch that couldn’t possibly have been right. She felt panic for the first time in ten years, killed the attitude jets and straightened the yoke. As she was catching her breath, she heard the door open.

“Move!” said the Captain.

She wanted to explain that, in fact, it hadn’t worked; that she’d panicked, they were still facing the same way, and he was about to charge out into more massed firepower than they seen since the war. There were only two problems with doing so: one problem was that the Captain was out the door already, and the other problem was that so was she.

He spotted the rock, right where it should be, and made for it. He took the last few feet in the air, rolled, and came up to one knee. An instant later, Zoë was next to him, also on a knee, weapon out.

“Good job, Zoë; that was the perfect spot.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Any idea what direction the other shuttle is from here?”

“Yes, sir. Past this one, and past all of them.”

“I see. Long way around then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Time to run.”

They did.

Lights occasionally flickered near them, and from time to time there were reports of shots. It reminded her too much of the aftermath of Belerophon, when defeat had first kicked her in the teeth, when she’d really learned what it was like to be on the losing side.

She shook her memories aside, and concentrated on running; that was hard enough. A little light from a pale, thin half-moon and even less from the sliver of another gave just enough light to avoid the trees, if she was careful; her eyes told her enough to stay with the captain.

The terrain cleared a little. “I don’t suppose that you have any idea if we’re near the other shuttle?”

“No, sir. I landed a quarter of a mile east of you, but I’m afraid I don’t know how far we’ve gone.”