Better to Beg Forgiveness Read Online Free PDF

locals to believe it. They're more dangerous to themselves than each other, but there's a lot of stray fire, and twenty million of the twits. And the flipping media makes them out to be some kind of romantic heroes."

    "We saw some of that on the way in," Alex agreed. "Common morons with guns. Bad concept."

    He took a long drink from the straw on his ruck strap. The water was cool but not cold. They were inside, facilities were nearby, and he was thirsty. There were good tactical reasons not to drink too much when convoying. There were good tactical reasons to stay well-hydrated the rest of the time.

    The gear was heavy, cut into shoulders, and caused his people to make occasional grunts from bumping each other or walls. No one said anything. That was part of the job. It was going to be like this for months, which is why they got paid as they did.

    Tech 1 White held doors for them, then hurried ahead. She was decorative, but she was also very practical, which Alex appreciated. He didn't like comments about support people. You lived or died depending on how support staff did their jobs or didn't. White was familiar with the surroundings, glad to help, didn't get in the way, and seemed discreet. He made note to make use of her if she was around. You thanked such people by giving them enough work to stay busy and letting them know they were useful and needed.

    "Right in here," she said, speaking for the first time. "This is the Private Parlor, where President Bishwanath will be working. Through there are his apartments. Through here"—she opened another door—"is the Front Parlor. These rooms to the side are yours. I'm at six-three-nine-one if you have any questions."

    "Thanks, Tech White," Alex said. This time, the others chimed in. That they felt more gratitude to a functionary than the grunts was telling, Alex thought. He frowned. That would have to be fixed somehow. They couldn't resent the people they worked with.

    White and Buckley left, they started unpacking gear, starting with weapons, and looked around. Paneled wood, rugs on polished floors, minimal artwork, comfortable furnishings. They each had a private room with a shower. That was all they had time for, but it was certainly much choicer facilities than the holding barracks Corporate had kept them in on arrival the night before in Kaporta. The Front Parlor did connect directly to the President's quarters, so they could guard both entrances. Both entrances were on the same end of the hallway. There was no real alternate way out. That would have to be fixed.

    "Cover those damned windows and get some shutters," Bart muttered. Past him, Alex could see a lizardlike bird analog, tiny and cute and with feathers that were almost scales.

    "Indeed," Jason agreed. "Cover and concealment. I don't care if it's a courtyard, I don't want to be a target."

    "I already was apprised of that and put in a work order with the engineers," Alex said, trying to soothe nerves. "It may be a week."

    "So everyone watch your profile," Aramis said. "Shaman doesn't need the work."

    "I can always operate on the coffee table," Shaman joked. "It is broad, flat, and a good height if I am sitting." Or was he serious?

    "Everyone got local time?" Alex asked.

    "Yes," Jason said. "Twenty-one hours, twenty minutes, and some odd seconds, Earth time, divided into twenty sixty-four minute hours, with a second very slightly shorter than Earth's to account for the difference. I've got Zulu Time on one screen and Local Meridian time here on the other."

    "Good," Alex nodded. "Everyone else?" There was agreement.

    "Going to take a bit to get used to a short day," Aramis commented.

    "Eh, I just sleep when not working, read when I happen to be awake, and work out before breakfast," Bart said. "That is left over from idiot synthmod stars who perform until oh two hundred and party until oh nine hundred, then sleep before traveling."

    "You're not coming from the ten div or twenty-eight-hour day I'm