Wash said, “Are they Locals, or private security?”
“Both,” said Mal and Kit at the same time.
“Forty,” said Jayne.
Kit nodded.
“Let me think. Forty of them, four of us. That’s… uh, more of them.”
“Can’t get one past you, Jayne,” said Mal.
“So, we blow up the barracks?”
“Don’t think that’s like to happen,” said Mal.
“Why not?”
Zoë said, “Jayne, we’re not going to blow up forty Locals. We’re not at war with the Locals. The Alliance won’t take to us blowing up forty Locals. They’ll notice. They’ll—”
“The Alliance? Now we’re worrying about the Alliance? If we were worried about the Alliance, why did we invite a gorram fed to this party?”
“In fact,” said Kit, “it’s the gorram fed inviting you to his party, and he isn’t entirely sure why he’s doing it, but he promises you it’ll be a bad idea to blow up forty Locals.”
Jayne said, “Not if we start out by blowing up the fed.”
“Jayne,” said Mal. “Your question’s been answered.”
“All right,” said the big man. “So what do we do?”
“We could give up,” said Wash. “Surrender. Throw ourselves on their mercy and beg forgiveness. Maybe if we sound really sincere—”
“How do they get word?” said Mal.
“Hmm?” said Kit.
“If the manor gives an alarm, how does the barracks get it?”
“Oh.” Kit frowned. “I have the frequency, if you’re thinking we could jam it.”
“Was thinking that. They have a backup system?”
“Don’t know.”
“Could you jam it, Wash?”
“Yep. Course, someone figures it out, he could work around it.”
“How long would that take?”
“Depends how good he is. Thirty seconds? Five minutes? An hour? There isn’t any way to know.”
“All right. Let’s say we can keep them reinforcements out. We still need to get past the guards on the perimeter, and in the house.”
Jayne said, “Can we, like, shoot somebody? Or we just going in waving our guns around hoping to scare ’em to death?”
“Disarm them and immobilize them,” said Mal. “Defend yourself if you have to. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I’d rather get past as many of ’em as we can.”
“You could take the shuttle,” said Wash.
First Jayne, now Wash. Sometimes his crew could be really dense. “We’re going to take the shuttle, Wash,” he said patiently. “The point is, how to find the right place to set it down, and then the right way in, and then how we—”
“No, I mean, you could take the shuttle all the way.”
“I don’t get what—”
Wash stabbed at a place on the plan. “That’s the office, right?”
“Yes…”
“So, take the shuttle right in.”
“Wash, the windows are only—”
“Niao zai the windows. Look at the plans. The walls are eight centimeters thick where the studs are, and hollow everywhere else, and you said the place is built of cedar. I could land on top of his desk, if you can tell me where the desk is.”
No one spoke for a long moment.
“You know,” said Kit, “that’s not a half-bad idea.”
“Wash, can you really bring us through a wall?” said Mal. “With you flying, there will be five in the shuttle. It’s going to be sluggish.”
“He can do it,” said Zoë before Wash could answer. Wash just nodded.
“How much weight will the floor take?”
“What does the shuttle weigh?”
“With five of us in it? About eight tons.”
` “What about getting out again?” said Mal.
Wash shrugged. “Spin, go out the way we came. If the floor will hold.”
Kit frowned and looked over the plan some more. “Reinforced cedar. Eight tons distributed over…I think we’ll be all right.”
“There’s something to be said for it,” said Mal. “You can’t figure they’re looking for it. Kit?”
“I’m good with it.”
“Jayne?”
“What, smashing through the wall of a guy’s house? What part of that could I not like?”
“Okay, sounds like a plan. Kit, what do you know about timing?”
“You mean, when are we likely to find him sitting at his desk?”
“Yes.”
“He does most of his work early morning, or early afternoon.”
“What is local time right now?”
“Almost eleven,” said Kaylee.
Kit said, “I’ve got some numbers. Give me a few minutes to run them, and I’ll give you an ideal time.”
“Good. Wash, can you show Kaylee how to jam that signal?”
“Easy. I can set it up so she just has to hit the power.”
“Good, then. What else?”
“Sir,” said Zoë. “What are we going to do when we get in there?”
Kill him, he thought. “We’ll see,” he said.
He sat on his bunk, and was not entirely happy with the state of the ’verse.
It was a hell of a time for Vera to be locked away in a gorram storage locker. And all of his other hardware with her. All he had were two pistols, one with three spare magazines, one with four. And with this sort of work, a rifle could make all the difference.
On the other hand, if they were all killed crashing through the wall, it wouldn’t matter what sort weapons he was carrying. That was comforting.
He stripped, cleaned, and re-assembled both weapons, enjoying going through the motions his hands knew so well.
That was comforting, too.
But if things went wrong—
No, that was stupid. Something like this, how could things not go wrong? The only questions were, how many things would go wrong, and which were they? And that sort of figuring, he knew, was not his particular skill.
He put the spare magazines for the Century Marauder VI in his right-hand coat pocket, and the ones for the Devtrex SI-4 in his left. Right Century, he repeated. Right Century. It’s the right century. Heh. That’s funny. The Marauder went into his belt, the SI into his left-hand pants pocket. He’d use the Marauder first, of course. They built a good weapon; you could drive nails with the butt, then drive more nails with the barrel, and you’d still have a weapon that would fire clean and hit what you aimed at. The Devtrex, well, it would fire most of the time, if it was kept clean.
Mal had a plan. The Fed had a plan, too. Okay, then. Fine. If they landed alive, and got out of the shuttle alive, he’d just start shooting, and stop when everything in sight was dead.
There, he thought. Now I have a plan, too.
It’s all in the details, he reminded himself.
He was looking over the shuttle, studying the position of the seats, and the distance from each to the door. There was the door control itself, and that’s where someone would be standing to operate it. Therefore—
Gorram it. There were too many variables; too many unknowns; too many things that could go, if not wrong, then at least different. And that would be plenty to upset any plan he could come up with more general than, take any opportunity to make things work out right.
He checked his sidearm.
In the seven years since the end of the war, he had never fired a shot except at the range; had never come close to needing to. And now…