Do Unto Others-ARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  It was less than an hour before Eggett returned.

  "They're doing scut labor, running tools and lube out to the drilling crews," he reported. "It's easy to do, not far from here, and gets them lots of familiarity with the tunnels."

  "Excellent," Jason said. "It's very much appreciated, sir."

  "Well, you can best thank me by never mentioning it."

  "Mentioning what? I'm just watching a vid on the couch."

  "Of course you are. I'm going to rack out. If you need backup, let me know. I'll trust your judgment on making calls."

  "Understood. We should have switched by the time you wake up."

  "Of course. 'Night." He wandered into the bathroom area.

  Elke caught Jason's attention.

  You owe me, she mouthed.

  "At least twice," he agreed.

  "Say nothing."

  "Okay."

  When Eggett came out thirty minutes later, Jason noted the time as a matter of course, then forgot it. Eggett stepped into his room to sleep.

  Elke slipped through the bedroom door behind him.

  "What are you doing?" Jason heard him ask.

  "Consuming extra oxygen," she said.

  She closed the door softly.

  Chapter 23

  Bart and Aramis probably stood out as tall Caucasians. However, there were a few others about, and no one seemed concerned.

  The issued clothing Eggett had acquired was not quite a vac suit, but was an elastomer coverall that was supposed to protect the skin from the mildly corrosive atmosphere outside. The face mask wasn't comfortable, but no worse than any protective mask. The oxygen bottle was for emergencies only, since this area was supposed to be pressurized. He had an emergency transponder he better not need for several reasons, some tools and a water tube. He carried a long pole that was part poker and part walking staff.

  He and Aramis had no trouble working out how to use the gear. It seemed the contract laborers learned quickly enough. That was reasonable. Most of them had probably worked in deep mines on Earth or elsewhere.

  So, looking like laborers wasn't that hard. All they had to do was show up at the pool and wait for assignments. The trick was not to do poorly enough to be noticed, nor well enough to be pulled out for promotion.

  The two men were part of what had been a long line, now much shorter, as details headed off in various directions. The passage they were in was lit enough to move through, signed periodically, and had reinforcement braces periodically. The beginning was railed, but this section was mostly under survey after having been drilled.

  Ahead, the tunnel broke into a large pit.

  The shift leader slowed, and saw them looking at the cavern ahead.

  He said, "Yeah, there was a gas bubble or something here. Popped. No one knows how deep it is, but I think they said a hundred meters? And it's round, so the floor's pretty thin, too. That's why no vehicles are allowed here. The plank is safe enough, though. Just lean on the wall for support. They're supposed to put a railing in at some point, but I haven't seen it yet. It's only been a month, though."

  The man skipped over the gap in three long steps.

  Bart followed, keeping his eyes only on the plank and not the hole. It was actually a pretty stout chunk of plastic, about 5 cm thick and 30 cm wide. It hardly budged under his weight. That was reassuring.

  There were other bubbles, too, from the size of froth in milk to several meters. Certainly volcanic in origin.

  The leader pointed.

  He said, "Okay, poke around up there and see if the ceiling has any loose spots," then moved to give directions to someone else.

  Bart thought he must be joking. That wasn't just unsafe . . . was it hazing of some kind? He couldn't argue, though. No trips to the manager's office, no arguments. He raised the pike and started jabbing at the ceiling. Over his shoulder, he realized his guide had moved far back.

  After a minute of poking, the man painted a mark on the wall, like others Bart had seen. Apparently, this was the way they did it.

  "Okay, move five meters and do it again."

  Bart did so, and his first jab yielded a half cubic meter of rockfall. He bounded back as it tumbled around his boots.

  "Good keep doing that."

  Leaning out and up, to keep his feet on relatively solid ground, he thrust some more. Another chunk collapsed, along with a shower of dust. As directed, he kept poking for several minutes until nothing else fell.

  "Okay, we'll call them to reinforce it," the crewboss said. Let's keep moving."

  Bart followed along, with a glance at Aramis, who grinned. He grinned back. It was that or twitch in fear.

  The mine did have an excellent safety record, he reminded himself. The odds were in his favor.

  At least some group had what looked like a scanning laser and sonar package they set up in several places along the bore. There were lots of personnel, and they all had radios. It probably wasn't as primitive as it seemed.

  At least, that's what he told himself, as he created rockfalls with a stick.

  Elke felt a lot better in the morning, despite not having much sleep. What sleep she had gotten was while curled up on the couch. Jason's rest had been on the floor on a couple of pillows.

  Caron was already awake. Her bangs were cut raggedly. She sat on the floor and seemed to cheer up as Elke tracked awake.

  "I cleaned up without anyone standing over me. It really felt great."

  "Good," Elke said. "I'd say you're as safe here as anywhere. If not, things have really gone bad."

  "Can you come with me?"

  "Sure." Elke followed her back into the bath cube. Caron stood in front of the lavatory and mirror.

  "If I'm going to masquerade as a miner, I imagine I need to get rid of the long hair."

  "You could tie it back—"

  "It's also distinctive. Chop it, please. About here." She indicated a line a couple of fingers above her collar.

  She held still as Elke fished out tool shears, grabbed her hair in a hank and chopped. Her eyes in the mirror were screwed tight, and her mouth pursed. She clearly wasn't happy.

  "Do you want me to neaten it?"

  "I do, but don't. I need to look like a labourer. I'll rub dark makeup around my eyes before we go out. I figure dirt will keep me looking dirty."

  "Good idea. Also, wear something loose or a snug athletic top. You need to conceal your figure."

  "Snug is good. I've felt cold since coming down here."

  "I know this is tough, but you say "hang in there" in English, yes?

  "American English, but yes."

  "Our success rate is very, very high. And this particular team has not lost a principal, even though we had to blow up buildings, hijack two ships, and shoot our way into a TV station."

  "I don't think most of the details were ever made public, but I'm dying to hear that story sometime."

  "After we get you to safety, I will," Elke promised.

  John had found some extra bread and pastries in a commissary somewhere. That and some tea had to suffice for now. Caron, Aramis and Elke ate some, drank some, dressed down and headed out.

  He'd said just walking into the labor line was safe. Elke trusted him, though she felt rather exposed, and more so without explosive or weapons. She would negotiate for a bonus for future assignments like this. She much preferred to be armed, even if the threat level was higher.

  There was a changing room, or rather, separate male and female changing rooms. She and Caron went to the female side. It wasn't at all crowded, but there were enough women for cover. There were bins of clean thermal underclothes, teflon suits and gas bottles for their respirators.

  Caron knew enough to manage, and Elke had training for vac suits, so it wasn't problematic. They dressed up and geared up, pulled on boots and work gloves, and headed back into the labor pool.

  They managed to slip past the time clock. Since they didn't care about getting paid, that wasn't really an issue, and no one said anythi
ng, likely assuming they were already on the clock. So all they had to do was get out of sight.

  She spotted Aramis as he wandered through the crowd, shifting and pushing and unobtrusively heading their way.

  She kept a bored look on her face, under her flattened and roughed up hair. She was as unremarkable as possible, but just being female here attracted attention. Caron was remembering to slouch. It helped. Aramis slipped in to act as block behind, and no one was likely to start trouble with him. He was big enough, and western, in the upper ten percent masswise, and clearly fit even by miner standards. They shuffled into a line against one side of the bay.

  Elke leaned casually back against the wall so she could see everything going on, with peripheral vision while she stared blankly ahead. Miners in three lines moved forward, got assignments, got safety gear, and disappeared into the tunnels.

  Their line crept forward, and then they were at the front. The foreman tossed her a key.

  Caron was right behind, as he said, "You over this way."

  Elke touched his shoulder and said in a thick Czech accent, "Fresh meat. Also doesn't speak English. We supposed to stay with her."

  "Alright then. You." He pointed at where Aramis had been a moment before, and the next man in line headed off somewhere else. The three of them were together.

  The man turned back and handed them keys, then said, "Fresh meat gets to chop ice on Slime Mixer Fifteen." He shoved a wheeled cart that rolled toward them before veering off to the right. Its wheels were bent and they squeaked.

  Elke nodded noncommittally, while wondering, What the kurva drat is a slime mixer?

  Aramis asked, "This way?"

  The man nodded, "Yup," and turned back to the line.

  Caron led down the dark hole, which was lit inside, just not as brightly as the staging areas. Elke moved into the lead, but let Caron up close behind her.

  "You know where we are to go?" she asked.

  "Yes," Caron said. "Through this tunnel, right and then along the catwalk."

  Elke said, "Got it. I lead, you direct."

  Shortly they reached an atrium with warning signs. It had lockable plastic tubs for personal gear, blast and tool-chewed rock walls, and a scarred and scratched airlock. There were O2 bottles in several racks. Caron keyed a numbered bin and pulled out the contents. The keypad had a cat's arse painted around it, tail up. Amusing.

  Elke did likewise, and Aramis silently did, too. They had cleats for their boots, safety lines, parka suits and hand tools. They had a combination harness/backpack each, and some additional power tools including a jackhammer and saw. The stuff was well worn and should get replaced. It seemed sturdy enough to suffice, just not efficient.

  "So what is this task?" Elke asked. "Outside, I presume?"

  "It will be in the pit, near the bottom," Caron said. "The slime mixer takes powdered ore and mixes it with various liquids, starting with water, so it can be centrifuged for separation. The slurries are then piped from different density levels in the mixer to various process plants, where they might be reduced by chemical processes or smelted, or vapourised for deposition on plates."

  "How awkward is it going to be to clear ice on this?"

  "That depends on how afraid of heights you are."

  Elke moaned softly. That wasn't what she wanted to hear.

  The lock opened, closed and opened again, to the familiar thick, filthy yellow crud eddying past. The elevator was a lattice-mesh gray plastic cage. It had UP, DOWN and STOP controls, no floor numbers. Elke elected to keep her eyes fixed on a corner girder as they descended. Aramis made a comment or two under his breath. Clearly, he wasn't thrilled either.

  After an interminable three minutes, they reached a platform level that was laid atop one of the road cuts. Caron pushed the cage open, straining to lift the vertical grate. It had probably been counterbalanced at one time. Now it was just heavy plastic. They walked out onto the rock, which made Elke much happier, and started trudging toward the multistory hazy outline ahead of them. It looked to be 60 meters or more in height.

  It grew a bit as they got closer, but not extremely, until Elke realized it went down another level, and there were more levels even below that. The scale was disconcerting. Rather than being in a pit, it felt as if they were on the side of a mountain. The concave curvature was almost imperceptible.

  Then they were upon it, its shape visible, all angles and flying plates and beams, beyond foreboding in this light. Elke could figure how to take it down, and how much power it had, but it was still terrifying to look upon.

  Another plastic mesh platform set on the rock led to it. Once out into space, there were stubby railings that looked spot welded on, and a ladder. Caron grabbed the rail and proceeded up. It was sturdy enough, just slender and almost freestanding. That of course was what made it strong, but it didn't make it comfortable.

  Caron started along the catwalk at a cautious walk. In seconds, she slowed to a gingerly walk, then to a shuffle, then to her knees.

  Aramis was fine with that. They were in no hurry, and he did feel safer. The scaffolding swayed slightly. Intellectually, he knew that was a good thing, and expected. His guts clamped down and quivered, though. He'd much rather get shot at; he could respond to that. This went on and on and there was nothing he could do in response.

  Elke definitely had courage. She didn't slow her pace, and used one hand for balance, the other to drag her tools. His own bag rattled slightly over the sections of the floor. He assumed hers did, too, but the vibrating grumble from the mixer, and the buffeting air currents hid any noise.

  It sure would be nice if they had enough oxygen and pumps to pressurize the mine with air, rather than the sulfur crud. Was that a logistical matter? Or was it one more way to keep the miners under control? An uprising would be difficult if you relied on your employer for a mask to breath with, and had to return inside their perimeter every six hours or so.

  They were about twenty meters up from the machinery below, on a small accordion mesh platform supported by four bars of angle iron with coarse, spatter-coated welds. The railing was knee height; just high enough to trip one, without any real support for the worker.

  They edged out over the huge pit, in which apt named slime tumbled and churned. It rumbled and shook the structure, and somewhere there was a resonance. The catwalk shook in sympathetic vibration. Aramis grunted and tried not to moan himself. How many million cycles could the thing shake before it cracked? The odds against it cracking right at this moment were remote, but . . .

  It got dustier and filthier the further out they crawled. Overhead, that huge conveyor dumped megatons of ground ore into the maw.

  "Here's a frozen nozzle!" Caron fairly screamed. He could barely hear her. She edged around it and snapped her line on. Elke stayed on this side and coaxed Aramis to the wide area underneath.

  The nozzle was hidden within a huge sheath of ice, centimeters thick. While they chopped at it with axes, Aramis unslung the small jackhammer, heaved it up, and jammed the blade into the ice. He clenched the trigger and felt it wham! wham! wham! against the ice, and his chest. Chunks flew, cracks formed, and in a few seconds he had the main part clear. As a large chunk came loose, a jet of water blasted back at him, then away as it blew more ice free. A large lump weighing probably fifty kilos fell away, then another. The women chopped the thinner ice sheath all the way back to the base.

  One down, nineteen to go.

  As they moved on, the mist was already frosting in the air and freezing back onto the strut.

  The next one looked like the first, and the third did, too. It seemed to be an around the clock job. It was cold, the atmosphere toxic, the platform shook and thrummed as the wind whistled. They chipped and blasted at the ice, then skated over the metal mesh to the next one.

  It became a routine bad dream, with the sweat-grimed mask stuck to his face like an octopus, the cold and wind and yellow haze, the vibrating platform, roaring noise creating a combination of mental
fugue and low-grade horror.

  Caron slipped, grabbed the railing, and kept going. One of the welds broke, whether from defect or erosion didn't matter.

  The metal bent and sprung, sending vibrations thrumming through the catwalk. Caron snatched tightly at the piece she had, and clung to it. The next section held, at an oblique angle, with Caron about two meters down.

  Aramis analyzed it in an instant. If she fell, she'd die. If they called for help, there would almost certainly be some kind of after action review, and she'd be revealed. So they had to get her now. There was no way to climb onto the railing without causing further failure, and nothing to grip on the catwalk edge. He had a safety line, but no way to attach it to her, and she needed both hands to hold onto the swaying railing.

  "Elke, I can lift you both. Give me your ankles."

  He expected her to argue, but she didn't. That look on her face was sheer terror, though.

  She turned around on hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the platform, under the attached section of railing next to the failed portion.

  Here goes, he thought. They were both trusting him. He grabbed Elke's ankles and gave a coaxing push. She crawled over the edge and bent at the hips. He kept pushing, and her knees bound up, her butt in his face, until she found some angle that worked and squeezed over.

  He heard her yelp as she dropped to full extension. Then his elbows ground painfully into the metal while her eighty? Ninety? kilos of woman and gear pulled on him.

  He'd figured Elke for about 65 kilos, and Caron for about 60, but that didn't include the gear, plus what he was wearing. He wasn't sure if he could lift that much now, which might mean they all died, because there was no way as a man he could let them go and walk away. A flush and sweat broke out all over, and he felt it itching and stinging his eyes, and his hands got cold and clammy inside the gloves.

  He leaned over to let his chest take the pressure, with the raised lip under his arms. Elke stretched down, though she might have her eyes closed, the way she flailed. However, she got a hand on Caron's wrist, and then gripped it with both hands. Caron clutched back, then, apparently at Elke's direction, slapped her other hand over and scrambled slowly up the ersatz hanging ladder the rail had become. That let her get a solid grip around Elke's shoulders, and Elke around hers. Then with coaxing from Elke, she nodded and carefully hung free.