Do Unto Others-ARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  "Concur, Playwright. We'll continue with operation unless directed otherwise. I'll inform management."

  "Please do. Get confirmation."

  "Understood. Do you need assistance?"

  "Very negative. Stay away from us. I will message with a delivery request." If Joe Prescot had any brains at all, he was watching Cady's team and any other security operations to see how and where they moved.

  "I understand, Playwright. Good luck."

  "Out."

  He killed power at once. He wanted to know if any of Bryan's detail were alive, but that information might not be available yet, and it was secondary to their principal.

  "Well, that's that. We keep Miss Prescot alive. We find deep cover. We give it a week or so to steady out." We get more weapons.

  Bart said, "To cover all bases, let me ask if we can just call the authorities?"

  Alex looked at Caron. She shifted uncomfortably.

  "No," she said. "First, you'd have to convince them there was a threat against me. Then, we'd have to be where they could meet us. This assumes they're able to get in, or a message is able to get out. Pretty much everything bottlenecks through the main office."

  Shaman said, "What you must also consider is the long term threat. It would be best to deal with it now, if it can be dealt with. Long term, there are other weapons and accidents that can be arranged."

  Caron sighed a deep and shuddering sigh, still in tears.

  "Yes, please. Let's get this over with," she said. She swayed slightly and sat down hard on a bench. She covered her face with her hands and seemed oblivious, but wasn't crying.

  Aramis said, "I think we're safe here for a few hours. Ultimately, I want to get out of this area of this dome. It's too confined."

  Jason said, "What's our backup? Or should we pick another bolt hole? Or fabricate one?"

  Elke said, "Down in Mine Staff should be safe for now. We have a contact."

  Alex raised his eyebrows. "Can we trust Eggett?"

  "Yes," Elke said.

  "How do you know?"

  "His reputation, his skill. I've met him before. If he was part of it, there wouldn't have been an 'accident.' It would have been a disappearance, or inside radius of a nuke. Also, he's smart enough to know it's going to leak out. That would end his career."

  "Money wouldn't buy him?"

  "Only if it bought him enough for more work. He loves explosive the way I do."

  "Okay. I'll believe you."

  One of the items Aramis had handed out was a paper map book. He'd planned well. Shaman leafed through it.

  "Eggett is over a square and down three levels in the Starlight Tower. Do you all remember that buildings here run up and down from the putative surface? There are maintenance corridors most of the way if we don't mind dust."

  "I prefer it," Alex said. "More concealment and less witnesses. Are we calling ahead?"

  "I can't believe you asked that," Jason said, sounding snide.

  "Yeah, sorry. I'm distracted."

  Chapter 22

  They moved down on foot, via back access corridors along the vehicle route. The corridors were cluttered with boxes and tools, and dim. There were tinges of yellow even here. At least that meant few of the staff were about, and no tourists. Aramis led, referring frequently to the map and to hatch and section numbers. He seemed sure of their direction generally, and didn't retrace any steps.

  Elke wanted explosive, and a shotgun. This was a war zone and worse, and a blbe pistol-caliber carbine and baton weren't enough for any real engagement. She gripped the baton because it was the only thing handy, but she didn't like it at all.

  She wasn't suffering an adrenaline dump, but there was this steady trickle of nerves. It was more than enough for reflexes. It was genuine fear. She took slow, deep breaths through her mask, and was glad when her sensors indicated clean air. She doffed the rubber octopus and felt sweat evaporate off, leaving cool stripes where it had clung to her face.

  Of course, now her face was visible, and she felt exposed and vulnerable. Silly, but another indicator.

  The passageways got wider but more austere, until they were cut into stone with sprayed sealant and locks every hundred meters or so.

  Eventually they came to a side passage that entered the main corridor of the block occupied by the technical staff. They gathered up against the door in a huddle.

  Elke punched a number into her phone manually. She waited for a moment.

  Someone apparently answered, and she said, "It's the small foreign bird."

  Another pause and she said, "I need to cache a Czech."

  Jason made a snorching sound. Damn. She could even use English as a weapon, and it wasn't her native tongue.

  She waited silently and attentively, then said, "Understood. Out." Turning to the others she said, "Arrive in seventeen minutes."

  Then they waited.

  Joe was not panicking yet, but not happy. He sat in the chair in his office and gave every impression of worry. It was true. He was worried.

  He'd thought things were covered enough that Caron would be brought right to him. Some negotiation, some tears, some help, an offer to deal with the crisis and let her out of the golden prison, just to reduce the threats, and he'd have control. She'd be relieved, he'd have what he wanted, Bryan would have an honest grave, and he could screw Ashier without skulking around. When he got tired of her, he could toss her aside and not worry about repercussions in the family. He'd be the family.

  And if someone kidnapped that little bitch Caron he could laugh at them. What would it matter?

  That was all on hold. He needed her alive or dead. Alive for negotiation, and dammit, his offer was fair and charitable. Give her a million a year and a generous travel account and nothing to worry about. If she wanted a job, she could have one. She didn't want the money and power, and he did. It was an easy accommodation.

  The longer this went on, though, the more likely someone would decide Bryan's unlamented demise wasn't an accident. They couldn't prove it wasn't, but just suspicion would wreck his plans. Cowards.

  His own guard was in radio communication with others, "assessing the threat level." He'd nodded and looked concerned. There was no threat, of course; he controlled almost everything at this point. Still, appearances were key when dealing with normal people. One had to make the right expressions, say the right things. No one ever meant them, but they were programmed to go through the motions.

  He let that thought run his outside. Inside he pondered the current problem.

  It was just possible the girl and her bullet stoppers were on some unannounced trip into the mine again. Things were a mess and they might be delayed, so he'd sit still for a short while.

  If they didn't bring her up here in the next few hours, though, he was going to have to move to the next stage. He really didn't want to do that. She was a very pretty girl.

  Dammit, he wanted to be alone for a few minutes, but he had to stay here and act concerned.

  A message popped up and he glanced past it, then his eyes locked.

  Twenty-four hours. Exactly enough time for word to go both ways.

  Joe, what the hell is happening? You swore it wouldn't involve violence. You fucker. Ash.

  Damn the whore, it was a perfect accident. If she didn't believe it, who else didn't?

  More importantly, how to shut her the hell up?

  Actually, that wasn't the problem, but juggling it was. He'd better respond.

  Ash. Please believe me, this wasn't any plan. It's a tragic accident. Of course I want a better share of things, but a share, not the whole mess, and certainly not with my brother, your daughter and hundreds of innocent people hurt and missing. We're still searching, and investigating, and trying to make sense of it all. I'll contact you with answers soon. Joe.

  That might buy 72 hours, then he'd have to offer something to back up his assertions. That shouldn't be a problem. That investigator was going to do exactly as he was told.


  And it was exciting in a way. Just like judging a market peak to rake in profit from all the naïve little twits who thought they could play stocks. Only this time, instead of headlines about dreams crushed and savings wiped out, it would be dreams crushed and money couldn't stop it.

  Of course, money could stop it, but why would he, when he could make more money by not spending it?

  Meantime, he would have to work something out for Ashier Aiday Ghirxi Prescot. Something subtle, but permanent. That was another challenge.

  The next message was terse and to the point.

  Joe, you have our thoughts with you at this trying moment. Prayers for your brother's safety. As potential investors, we remain supportive. Please take time to manage your family affairs.

  It was not signed. It didn't need to be. Yes, Joe was well aware of his investors, who'd set him up with the anonymous accounts and cash to get things rolling, and the cut they expected back. Their percentage would be fine, and Joe had better reason than they to keep things controlled. His money was more important.

  Your thoughts are appreciated. We all hope things resolve shortly, with minimal trouble for all parties and my brother. The support of investors like you is worth more than I can express in words.

  He hoped that this exchange never made it out. He didn't think it was an admission of anything, but even publicity could be bad.

  Eggett's quarters were right next to a service corridor. That made it a little easier to avoid notice. Elke walked straight up and buzzed, he answered, she glanced for witnesses and waved, and the others rounded the corner in a gaggle, with Aramis and Jason poking and horseplaying. Of course, detailed camera scans might still show them, but there was nothing to be done about that.

  She closed the door behind them and activated the pressure seal with a slap of the large button.

  "Thank you, John," she said.

  Caron slipped by, almost unnoticed, until she caught Eggett with a full body slap across the face. It staggered him. Then she started punching.

  "You incompetent arsehole!"

  Eggett turned and took it on his back. Elke grabbed one of Caron's arms and twisted, gently enough not to break it, firm enough to restrain her. Shaman grabbed the other and reached for his kit. He tranked her before she noticed.

  "And you!" she shouted when she did.

  "Half dose, Miss," he said, as he guided her back to a chair. "Just enough to calm down."

  It took the wind out of her, and she slumped into a dark fugue, a limp snarl still stuck on her face.

  Eggett stood up and turned, his expression sad rather than angry.

  "I didn't set those charges, Miss," he said. "I'm truly very sorry for the event, and I'm on your side. I need my reputation to work, and whichever asshole did that has damaged mine, and put me in a position where I can either keep my mouth shut and be a shill, or starve. I want them. Not as much as you do, but I know where my loyalties are."

  Caron was already glassy eyed and had a dark, violent scowl on her face.

  "Sorry," she said. It was clear she was just being polite, but hell, the girl had to be in severe emotional shock.

  Alex said, "Well, we're hidden for a few minutes or hours. We need to figure where to go next. We need somewhere hidden and off the rolls."

  "I know of some people who can help."

  "How close are they?"

  "Several days. I'll have to leave a message for them."

  "Dammit, who are they?"

  "Dropouts."

  "As in, people who've disappeared and are still living here?"

  "Yes, you've heard of them?"

  "No, but it's not a new idea, and it's happened before."

  Shaman asked, "How well can they scrape by on a desolate, hostile rock?"

  "One that has lots of metal resources, a large transient population and the highest technology base of any mine in history? Quite well, I'm told." That grin of his gave odd emphasis to his comments.

  Alex shrugged. "Well, we do what we have to."

  Eggett said, "They can keep you completely invisible, if they want to." His expression said that was a tossup, though.

  "Bad news?"

  "Well, I wondered about the low wages, et cetera. I even inquired. The problem is, all official communication went through that office. I don't think most miners are that inquisitive, and they don't have a lot of access to info other than the company news and porn channels, and WCN broadcasts several hours out of date. The dropouts have even less."

  "So they may approve of the 'accident' and feel no obligation to his daughter?"

  "I doubt most of them would kill or rape her. At least half would give her a meal if she were starving. But actually help? Unlikely."

  "If we can stay hidden, first, we'll see how things resolve and use our systems."

  "You can't stay here." At the return looks he said, "I'm happy to help, but an eightfold increase in oh two consumption will be noticed."

  "So we need to disappear during the day?"

  "I'd suggest you get onto a work detail. They'll never look for you there, and they don't check ID for food. Why would they?"

  "Sounds doable. Then we hang around?"

  "The bars and theaters run around the clock. Come back here in shifts to rest. Double consumption they'll think I have a girlfriend. Above that it will start to register as a leak and trigger alarms. So will just double use, but that will take hours and resets daily."

  "Alright," Alex said, "First thing, Caron needs to rest. Two of you stay here with her for now. Elke and Jason. Aramis, you and Bart come with me, and Mr. Eggett, if you don't mind? We'll get them onto a work shift, and I'll get an overview. Then you come back and we'll start sliding out four at a time, plus meals. Jason, can you-"

  "Make a schedule, yes," he agreed. "I'll do that while you're gone. Everyone will have eight hours of downtime, but that will include cleanup and rest both."

  "We'll make it work. After you, sir. Aramis, Bart, let's go."

  Bart had a very mixed threat sense at the moment. He was separate from the principal but still felt pressed by duty. He had the immediate duty of being discreet and unseen, which was hard at 193 centimeters and a hundred kilos of craggy, blond German in a mine full of swarthy little men from developing nations.

  That, and he was still on edge from their recent egress, made more tense by not knowing the extent of the threat. He didn't think it was likely he'd be murdered out of hand, but the possibility did exist, as did "accidents" in a mine he knew only superficially.

  Still, he trusted Marlow. Aramis was a good man to have in a fight; he'd never shied away. Elke trusted Eggett. Nor was there anything else to do.

  Joe knew he was shaking from stress, and caught between a need to do something now, and a bigger need to do nothing. He was fairly quivering.

  What he wanted, needed to do was to start legal proceedings to declare that snotty little bitch dead. To complete his takeover, he needed her body, or he needed a piece of paper. He didn't have the body.

  Then, he had to consider how likely he was to get the body in time to bypass the long legal process. How awkward if he had to scramble to make reality match legality.

  How embarrassing if she were found, even recently dead, hours, or days, after the event, for that matter.

  Then there was public perception. He couldn't start proceedings to declare her dead until he'd had sufficient mourning time. For him, that was five minutes before he made the call to set the charge. The public, though, and any investigators . . .

  He had de facto control for now, but there were limits on what he could change, and also limits on what the stock holders would accept. Once he had the family shares, that would not be a problem. What was the etiquette for this, though? It wasn't taught in public school.

  So what he really had to do was nothing apparent, while having his rescue teams search in the most likely places that would never find her, while certain other elements searched the unlikely places where she might be, but stop
as soon as there was evidence.

  Business was going to take a hit when he had to depressurise whichever tunnel she was in, along with whichever staff happened to be there. Then there'd be the hiding of the body, easy enough out on the surface, once he had the damned body. Just drop it from a jumper and let the corrosive clouds do the rest.

  Those Ripple Creek arseholes were bloody annoying. He should consider hiring them for his own security, after he got rid of the ones guarding Caron.

  The other problem was that he'd already put the word out for that bitch Ashier to have an impressive accidental overdose. Poor tragic woman, divorced, lost most of her fortune, lost her daughter, killed herself in a fit of despondency. It just wouldn't work the same way if that happened before Caron was properly dead. In fact, it would fuck things up royally. The problem was, he'd arranged for doctored medication to get the job started, and a menial servant to dress the scene to his direction once it took effect. There was a three to six day lead time, because there was a certain amount of randomness on when she'd swallow that first pill.

  After that, Joe could seek therapy himself, lock all the assets and do nothing for a month to let things settle out, then gradually take the reins and recover from the horrible series of unlucky disasters that happen on the edge of human technology. But it all depended on getting the little bitch dead in the next 72 hours tops.

  And what the hell was this Environmental Impact complaint? After three decades of development, now some bunch of bunny-fucking ecotwits was trying that route. It was a pathetic attempt. No environment meant no impact. This meant more lawyers, and he'd have to figure out who Bryan had cultivated in the Assembly to run interference on matters like this.

  It was just possible with this kind of money that groups like that could be removed, either permanently, or in such a way they feared to even speak.

  Joe wasn't sure which of those he liked better. Or, he could scare them, and then eliminate them anyway. It was only money, after all. What was the point if you couldn't have fun with it?