Do Unto Others-ARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  "Yes," he said at once.

  "I think we all do," Alex said. "Not a bad idea."

  He had good instincts. It wasn't that dissimilar from rifle. You held it firm but not tightly, braced but not clenched. The forward hand rested the bow, the rear hand nocked and drew, and then rolled the string, like squeezing a trigger. His first arrow wasn't close to the bull, but he managed a reasonable string with his first five. Caron adjusted his stance and the second five were a bit low and a lot tighter.

  "High is better than low," she said. "It gives you a generally longer zone that will count."

  "Danger space, we call it," he said. "I'll practice more. Let me swap with someone else."

  "Okay . . . Elke?" she asked.

  He'd practice, and try to forget her arms on his, her breath on his neck, and those impossible boobs against his back.

  And he'd try to forget watching her do the same with Elke. Dammit.

  They took five minutes each to familiarize. They could all manage the horizontal plane and keep the arrows in a few centimeters width. Adjusting for vertical took a lot more.

  "This is probably not effective for us without a lot of practice," Bart commented as they slipped back into Ontos' cave.

  "No," Ontos said, "but some of us do have practice, and mass volleys will have a good effect, as well as scaring the crap out of people. I have one because it's near silent. Gunshots would draw attention. I still may need to defend myself. But as a general issue, no. Besides, we don't have enough plastics to steal a lot of it."

  Caron said, "I'd like one. Possibly even a little heavier draw."

  "That's twenty kilos," Ontos said.

  "I think I can handle twenty-five."

  "That's strong for most women, but if you can shoot it, I'll get one. A dozen arrows is about it, though."

  "They'll be bulky," she agreed.

  Aramis was impressed. That wasn't bad weight for a civilian.

  Alex said, "I have no problem with you being armed, Caron, but do please let us act as blocks first. Defend yourself only."

  "I will," she said. She seemed a lot more confident with the bow in hand. She even smiled slightly, for the first time since the evacuation and her father's death. And those eyes . . .

  Elke asked, "What about firearms?"

  Ontos looked suspicious. "What about them?"

  "I was suggesting Caron get familiar is all."

  Caron raised her eyebrows.

  "Oh!" she said. "I don't mind, but I have moderate practice with the bow. I'm much more comfortable with it."

  Alex said, "Then carry that when it's appropriate. Use what works for you."

  Ontos seemed to be hesitantly on the edge of speaking. Aramis gave him a nudge.

  "So you were going to say?"

  Ontos shifted, took a breath, and said, "Yes, we do have some firearms. Pistols, shotguns and some carbines."

  "You can't have enough guns to help," Caron said.

  "Close to five hundred so far."

  "How? There haven't been that many authorized total. I know. The approval went across my f-father's desk."

  "We have a chemical industry and machine shops, therefore, we have firearms. No trouble at all. Stunners pose a problem, though ultrasonic transducers aren't too hard to come by."

  Caron looked offended and shocked. Clearly, she hadn't considered that option.

  Jason chuckled.

  "I've been trying to make that point since we landed here, and to other contractees previously. If someone wants a weapon, they're going to get one. You can stop the decent people, but never the ones you need to worry about."

  "More importantly," Aramis asked, "do you have people trained in their use and in proper unit discipline?" His brain entertained horrible images of reckless laborers shooting every which way.

  Ontos nodded. "We have a number of veterans, and our existing background means a lot of the old timers are very disciplined and trustworthy. If they can handle mining charges, they can handle a gun, I suspect."

  "Fair enough," Aramis said to avoid debate. He wasn't convinced, but he did feel a bit better with that info.

  Jason said, "Okay, guns. Talk to me."

  Ontos leaned back and seemed to relax a bit.

  "Well, the handguns are a bit bulky. Old design, rather blocky, but reliable. The carbines are just a tube with a barrel and a breechblock. Not elegant."

  "Most carbines in history were basically that. What caliber?"

  "Ten by twenty millimeter."

  "That's not standard. I'm guessing you have a drawing press for the cartridges?"

  "Yes. Only one. That and primer production are the holdups. We have less than two hundred rounds per gun at the moment."

  "You were really planning an armed rebellion?" Caron asked.

  "Not so much planned, as no one ever stopped the preparation. We all knew it was coming. No one wanted to be unprepared, regardless of when or how or why or who. There was also the likelihood—no offense, miss," he said with a nod toward Caron, "—that the leadership would try to tromp on us. The only example we had was your uncle, and he was playing good boss/bad boss with your absentee father as the bad boss."

  Her jaw clenched, but she smoothly said, "I can see that. I will see about fixing it."

  "I'll bring one of each later, then. I don't know where they are. Someone else gets the parts and puts them together."

  Jason said, "So one of your shops gets an internal job order for a component and makes it. Presumably the maker is on your list, since rifled barrels and certain magazine components, and triggers, are fairly obvious."

  "Something like that, yes," Ontos admitted. "The work is broken up and distributed. Some of the finish steps are done with hand tools rather than automated, such as trigger shaping. The barrels are smoothbore. We never figured to fight at ranges where it would matter much, and the ammo is close to spherical."

  "It should still give you twenty meters reasonably," Jason said. "Very effective for what you need."

  Caron did not look thrilled at finding a conspiracy cabal operating in her mine.

  "Things seem to be even worse than they appear to me," she said. "I wish I had been here sooner. Or my father." She sighed rather than tearing up. "But I'll make it right now."

  Ontos said, "It's time for dinner." He was probably trying to avoid any embarrassing scenes. However, Caron was obviously not thrilled at the idea of more worms or vat-grown chicken or liver.

  Jason said, "I'll cook."

  "Sure?"

  "Yes, least I can do."

  "Go ahead."

  Ontos seemed fine with him doing so, and he thought he could manage a little more elegance. He grabbed some of the real chicken they'd brought from above, then went on a search.

  Rice, dry eggs, dried vegetable chunks, and a dozen leftover sauces. He could fabricate a curry from that if there was . . . yes, cumin. All good.

  Converted rice took minutes. Frying it with a little egg took less. Frying and simmering the veggies and chicken with the sauces took barely longer. In fifteen minutes he had four bowls and four plates—Ontos had sets of four—of rice with steaming golden curry atop.

  Elke made appreciative noises and dug in neatly. Aramis downed it before Jason sat himself, and then went for field rations. The rest ate comfortably. He tried a full bite himself. Yup, not bad.

  "Oh, I do like this," Caron said. With a quick glance at Ontos, she added, "Warm and comforting."

  Yeah, she'd definitely not been happy with wormburgers. Still, she put on a brave act for a spoiled kid. Her father hadn't done badly.

  "Glad you like it," Jason said. "Although cooking is not in my duty description, so there will be a fifty Mark surcharge."

  Caron giggled and said, "Certainly." Then she turned to Ontos. "Can you tell us a story?"

  He looked surprised.

  "Story?"

  "Anything. Something amusing about this place. It's getting to me, and it can't be all bad."

  "About like
a mine anywhere else, really," he said, leaning back. "The most important thing . . . when somebody yells 'Run,' you fucking run. You don't stop to ask what's going on, or look around to see what the problem is. If it's the same direction everyone else is running you'll probably be alright.

  "Okay, here goes.

  "When I first got here, babe in the woods, the production was rather crude. They had trouble with purity and keeping enough power moving. This was right as the fusion plant was finished. They were using solar, which was fine, except we expanded beyond the capacity. That shortage led to problems. It was about this cold, too," he indicated the space around them. "Which is how I got used to it, and to living in a cave. We could always sleep on warm machinery, though.

  "Guy showed me this huge pipe they'd extruded, that had a flaw. It was broken, cracked along the majority of its length with a fissure that had to be twenty centimeters wide in some spots. Above and below the break, in bright orange letters was the word "Broken". I asked the boss if that wasn't kind of obvious, he shook his head and said that if you didn't label it, sure as hell someone would load it on a truck and ship it two hours to a place that needed a pipe.

  "They had an electric smelter, and some of the gauges went out. Couldn't stop, because they had to have production running. Gauges came from Earth. In the meantime, someone started live catching rats. There's always a few around, dunno what the fuckers live on, but I guess they eat rock. They used them at the sight glasses. Ran a quartz pipe across just far enough out to stop it melting, but to gauge the mass. Guy told me, 'If the rat makes it past here, the temperatures too low, if he explodes much before that, she's set too high.' Apparently it was pretty accurate too.

  "Back then, they just dug and dumped. There was a huge tailing pile, hill sized, next to the pit. It started in a depression, but filled it and kept building. Unbelievable. Toxic shit, too. It was dust that would get all over your suit, full of fine silicon, some asbestos, sodium and potassium ores, phosphorus and sulfur. Stuff they used in small quantities and tossed the rest. Lots of silicon. Irritating rather than toxic, but it got everywhere. Like being in a desert Earthside.

  They used the pipes to run pressure down to blow dust out, and suck it up, like a massive vacuum cleaner. Periodically we'd have to drop a charge up the line to blow out concretions. After a while, the pipe would fail. So I got to wait out there one day, double shift, for a replacement. We cut the bad section out, shoveled away all the gunk that looked like baby shit and smell kind of like scouring powder and waited for the truck to bring us a new length to slide in. It got there and they rolled it off the side before someone noticed the big orange words "broken" painted on the outside. I was the only one who thought it was funny."

  "Nice," Jason said with a grin. "I've got a million military stories like that. I miss it."

  Ontos said, "Yeah, you have to laugh at the stupidity, or sooner or later you go gaga. Anyway, I'm gonna rack out. Keep it quiet, please."

  "Will do. Good idea anyway. Shaman, you're on now?"

  "I am," he agreed, and stood up by the door.

  The rest bundled under covers and get as comfortable as rock allowed.

  A shift later, Ontos had a case with two guns in it. Bart kept an eye on him. He might be an ally, but there was still a lot of money involved. He sat still and watched, with his hand relaxed, open and near his pistol.

  Ontoos took out the samples. The carbine was an open block with a mechanism within, a barrel and a welded on pipe for a grip.

  Caron gave the weapon a quick look. She did study it like an engineer.

  "It's just channel steel with a spring release, and a block with a barrel."

  "That's all it takes," Jason said. "Brute force and simple."

  "Wouldn't aluminum be lighter?" she asked.

  "It would, and wear out faster from pivot movement."

  "I'll stop trying to second guess. I can see how these were easy to make."

  Aramis took it and examined it.

  "The barrel's not rifled," he said. They'd been told that, but it was odd to encounter it.

  Bart shrugged. "Why bother at less than twenty meters?"

  "Good point."

  Jason said, "This will definitely outfit a respectable insurgency under the circumstances."

  The pistol was a rectangular tube for a grip, and two nesting tubes for barrel and frame. It was blocky, heavy and had no safety or slide latch. It would shoot, though.

  "Five hundred total?" Alex asked.

  "Four hundred and sixty three," Ontos said. "The shotgun is a single shot break open job. Those were easier to make."

  Bart did not think a mob outfitted with these would constitute an army. However, it would be a dangerous mob. That would prove a great distraction.

  Aramis asked, "Any good melee weapons?"

  "More demolition tools."

  "Good."

  They had their wrecking bars, and a similar tool the miners could access, with a huge gripping jaw and a chisel back for prying.

  "How many of those?" Alex asked.

  Ontos said, "As many as we need. I think a couple of hundred guys with these constitutes at least an armed, angry mob."

  "And then some."

  "Also these." He handed over a set of metal knucks. They were brutally heavy.

  "Tungsten?" Jason asked.

  "Yes. Cast."

  "Not something we really need, but I'd like a souvenir when we're done. Most impressive."

  Ontos nodded. "I can do that. I can't get another bow for the lady," he said, "but I can let you take mine."

  "I'll be fine with that, thank you," she agreed. She turned to Alex. "So, do you think that can stop a hundred thugs?"

  "No. He'll have the regular police try to stop the miners, and keep the thugs for us personally. However, now we only face a hundred paid thugs, plus a few distractions in the way and any tourists wandering across lines of fire.

  "Which brings up rules of engagement," he said.

  "Uh . . . " she replied, looking scared again.

  "The thugs I can kill if I have to. There's no moral ambiguity there. The cops I'd prefer not to—they're your employees. But if they hinder us, we'll have to fight them, and it's a lot harder to be nonlethal than lethal."

  "I understand," she said. "I also trust you to avoid a fight if possible."

  "Absolutely," he said. "Not fighting is easier than fighting. Then, there's wandering idiotic tourists who may try to help, watch, or generally get in the way. I have no intention of killing them, but accidents do happen. If that happens, it's going to cost you a lot of money certainly, and it may cost us criminal charges."

  She looked depressed rather than scared now, but with an odd, quirky grin.

  "When I said I didn't need that much money, I wasn't suggesting just burning assets in a swath. I prefer to be frugal."

  "We'll do what we can, but Miss Prescot, will you back us up in court or in the press if we have to hurt ignorant bystanders and well-meaning but misguided cops?"

  "Yes," she said. "I will."

  "So we'll do what we can to minimize it." Secretly, he was glad she hadn't heard details of their first, rather spectacular mission.

  "I also need a really big distraction in case things screw up the plan, which they probably will."

  Elke said, "I will crack the dome if we need."

  "That's a bit extreme isn't it?"

  The look on Elke's face was disgusted. Did he expect any proposal of hers not to be extreme?

  He had the decency to blush slightly and shut up.

  Bart asked, "Do you have enough to do that?"

  "I have one to do that."

  Alex said, "That's a pretty potent item."

  "It's actually a small nuke, about two hundred tonnes." She reached over and pulled her ruck away from the device.

  He choked on his drink.

  "You are fucking kidding me."

  Bart felt a ripple of heat himself. Gott in himmel.

  Aramis sai
d, "Nice! How many do you figure to kill?"

  "If I do it right, none, sadly. A horrible waste of a beautiful device. However, it should prevent much violence while offering no provocation."

  "You have my condolences, Elke."

  "I shall mourn and drink to its memory later. Right now I must emplace it where it will do the most bad."

  Aramis said, "I like you, Elke."

  "Just think of me as a performance artist," she said with a winking grin that was mousy-cute and disturbing at the same time.

  Alex said, "That's what you were doing the other day with Jason. Jason?"

  Jason blushed and looked guilty.

  "We went to get charges. I didn't know she had a nuke until after we left. Still, it's only a backblast charge, not one of the big vaporizers."

  Caron looked as if she'd just found a grenade in her oatmeal. Well, he supposed she had.

  "What are you planning with a nuke?" she asked. Her tone was halfway between amused and horrified.

  "The same as your uncle planned, but better. I will stir up much dust, shake the ground, crack the dome, and force everyone into emergency gear. This will negate large numbers of hired mercenaries who will be scrambling for cover, and do not all have breathing gear. They will likely be mixed in among large numbers of civilians your uncle is depending on to keep him solvent."

  "What if he decides he's losing and to have them kill civilians and blame me? Since he'll blame me for any collateral damage anyway."

  Shaman said, "He does not have that personality. He will not concede failure until taken down."

  "I really can't endorse this," Caron said. She spoke firmly and with wide eyes.

  Alex spoke just as firmly. "Caron, once we have accepted your charge, there are some orders we cannot take, such as to stand back while you kill yourself. Jason had a lengthy go round with your father about weapons for us. Bryan was a very civilized man, but in the end, he paid an awful price for it. We have all trusted Elke with our lives multiple times. I trust her implicitly, and I agree with her assessment."

  Caron still looked ready to stonewall.

  "That's a nuke," she said.

  Elke said, "You owe me a life. I am calling the favor now."