Do Unto Others-ARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  Jason flipped switches and off they went.

  The tunnel was dark. Periodically, a dim flash indicated a monitor at an airlock, opening and closing. The whole effect was very surreal, though.

  It made no sense. The previous tunnel was lit constantly, this one not at all. It was one of those things there was probably no explanation for.

  The tracked swerved and swooped twice, with a slight rise. That was probably partly to bring things into alignment at the surface, could be due to large masses or bubbles that weren't easy to get through, or even to break up shockwaves from going straight down the tunnel.

  Chapter 28

  Joe was increasingly pissed. They were still alive, great. Now they were stirring up trouble and coming back. He had to keep a lid on the press, on operations, on snoopy tourists, and it was all a juggling act he couldn't share. They should have the decency to sneak off or die in peace, and be done with it. They should not be blasting their way across the old pit, shooting their way through the powerplant and trying to cadge a ride in.

  If we had time for explosives, we could just drop the roof and let the atmosphere dry the goo. Send in a drill to re-open it later, and move on with everyone "missing and presumed dead" in the original blast. But no, there hadn't been any way to get a charge down there, because his hirelings had blanched at the hint. They were "defensive." Even though they knew this was a territorial fight for control of billions, they were too much the nancies to play.

  All he could do was watch the thermal image of the trolley, with all those exposed targets on it, run up the rails.

  He could, however, have a reception party.

  The trolley ran smoothly. Alex was sure there'd be some kind of attack, though. If it was an explosive, they were dead. There was no need to consider that, unless it might have some kind of trigger that Elke would spot. That's why she was up front with her glasses.

  Of course, something sonically triggered, or just by remote, wouldn't be predictable.

  And, there was no need to consider that. He should consider things they might face.

  There had to be cameras along this route, and there would sooner or later be indicators of their presence from the power plant.

  So, at some point, they were going to take fire.

  They had no cover.

  There was nothing to be done about this, except pucker up and try not to have an accident. Though, really, he wouldn't blame anyone who did.

  Either they'd be attacked before the terminal end, or right there. There was no advantage to waiting. Most likely it would be at the terminal. It wouldn't make sense for troops to come down a dark tunnel, possibly silhouetted, and give away any advantage. They could just wait for the team to come to them.

  So, the only cover they did have was this cart, which was just big enough to kneel behind, and wide enough for three.

  Second problem: once they bailed out, they'd be fixed in position, unable to advance. A minimal force could hold them there while air was evacuated, or heavier weapons brought.

  How far apart were those cameras?

  He whispered, "Jason, can we evenly ignite these seats?"

  He heard Jason say, "Ah, that's brilliant. I'm sure we can. Hold on."

  "Think on it. Caron, do you know where the cameras are?"

  "About two hundred meters apart. They're minimal, just for supplemental tracking of problems."

  "Do we incline at any point?"

  "There is one twist and rise toward the end. The original survey was slightly off."

  "Perfect. And the cameras there?"

  "One points down from the end. I'm assuming there's one about there looking back this way."

  "Jason, what do you have?"

  "Some cartridge propellant and a small amount of incendiary from something Elke just handed me. Sprinkle, light with my cutting torch, but it's going to be hit or miss."

  "Will it distract people long enough for us to advance and control the situation?"

  "I expect so."

  Aramis asked, "How violent do you want me to get?"

  "Aramis, the gloves are off."

  "And that's what I hoped to hear," the young man replied. He wasn't as eager as their first mission, but he was certainly prepared to cut loose, accurately, with no moral qualms.

  "Elke, give as much notice as you can on that bend or rise."

  "You have notice," she said. "It inclines in only a few seconds, from what I can see."

  "Shit, move. Torch and off the back, advance behind it cautiously."

  Alex took Caron's hand and pulled toward the back of the trolley. She went along easily.

  She said, "Should I time the jump?"

  "Yes."

  "Now."

  He hopped and lit into dust and gravel, sprinted a step, jogged another and slowed to a walk. He heard other bootsteps and some half-stumbles.

  "Crouch," he told her, and did so himself.

  Jason reported from the darkness ahead. "Scattering. Stand by, igniting."

  His tiny but hot torch hit the front bench, then the second, then he hopped down, a shadowy ghost holding a flame, and went black, leaving only a little dazzle.

  The black turned momentarily orange in peaks over the seats, then subsumed to a dull glow with a whiff of ammonia and a faint residue of heat.

  Alex approved. The residual heat, and the flare above the benches, could easily be mistaken for human outlines. So when the empty car arrived, that's what the hostiles would believe.

  So now they had to advance.

  Caron whispered, "There's actually a small alcove on either side of the dock. Is that what you want?"

  "Yes!" he replied. "Lead, wait, no, get behind me. Sorry." Dammit, she was still the principal and he was expendable.

  "I heard," Jason said softly, and mumbles indicated him relaying the info.

  "Who's behind you?" he asked Caron.

  "Shaman."

  "Good, let's move."

  The problem now was not to be right behind their distraction. He advanced at a low jog, feet forward in an odd-looking step, and low to avoid tripping. A vibration came through the floor as the crashing click of the trolley docking reached his ears.

  In a few moments he felt the alcove ahead. They'd have minimal cover and concealment, but it might be enough. It better be, because the doors cracked and let in a blaze of light that brightened.

  There was no time for further orders, and he couldn't use radio. He'd have to rely on the team doing what they did best, which was breaking things, because there wasn't much chance of not being found shortly. He just planned to be found under his rules—by being the offense.

  Weapons clicked and rustled, and someone shouted, "Dammit, it was a decoy, they're not here."

  An Aussie voice said, "They must be."

  "The seats are torched. It was a decoy."

  "Son of a bitch, those fuckers are devious. Well, make sure they're out and go down and get them."

  "One on one?"

  "However many you think you can fit on that sled. You've got full armor."

  "Yeah, but they're Ripple Creek. You know what happens when they get pissed off?"

  "You want paid, right? We're just negotiating. Locate them, call back, and we'll discuss how to settle it. The boss doesn't want violence."

  "Yeah, that's why he suggested explosives. I know. Paid goon and all that. Okay, let's load up. You're staying here, captain?"

  "I'll follow with more, on foot if we have to. Just make sure they stay down there."

  Alex fished into his pocket and pulled out a fiberoptic periscope. Yes, twelve of them crammed onto the trolley.

  Caron, Shaman and he smashed tighter into the corner. They'd be seen as soon as that thing rolled, in either ambient light or enhanced goggles. He couldn't think of a quiet way to stop them, either.

  "Rolling," the team chief said, and power hum presaged the wheels turning.

  Alex thought to himself really hard. Jason, take out the captain as the doors cl
ose.

  The doors started to close, and the trolley was already in motion as they did.

  He saw it edge into his view, and he saw someone raise a finger to point at them.

  He thought he heard a shot. He couldn't be sure, because the trolley bounced off the guide rail, scattering the occupants. The ground erupted in firecracker goodness, which kept them plenty distracted. A definite shotgun blast sounded, and he took that as an opportunity to swing around the corner and vault up onto the platform.

  As he did so, he felt a couple of those firecracker things himself. Whatever Elke loaded them with was enough to cause a hotfoot. Rolling on them had to be painful.

  But the team captain was down from an impact load from Aramis, the door was jammed open, the dozen goons were shouting and thrashing. It sounded like Bart was using his trick of just repeatedly shooting people wearing reflexive armor, so that reflex stiffened and held them in place. Caron's bowstring slapped and an arrow bounced off one, giving less of the same effect. That should make them wonder, though. Then she tossed a flashbang.

  The sparkling blue blast took him by surprise. Shit, she still had those? It was more of a surprise to the others, though, and another arrow and two more shots tapered the threat off to nothing.

  Then they were through. Jason shot the control panel open, hit an override, and the doors slammed shut on pressure safeties. Elke sprinted to one, then the other, and two sharp bangs locked the mechanisms.

  There was no time for congratulations.

  "Run," he said. "Bart, you're hit."

  "I'm functional for now."

  Alex waved Bart and Aramis up front. So far, so good. Now they had to make it through the city.

  Aramis wondered if it was possible to get addicted to the endorphin rush of combat. That could be dangerous. But shit, this was a kick to the system.

  He knew where they were.

  "Elke, when do you want to pop that package of yours?"

  Alex replied, "Once we're in position to clear the civilians."

  "That's now," Aramis said. "We're going up a floor, across two streets, right and into the office."

  "So find us a hidey and we'll do it."

  "There are cameras here, too," Caron advised.

  "Thanks," Aramis said, and that rush tickled him again. "Service hall here."

  Elke said, "I'll need a clear reception area for signal."

  "This just never gets easy. Up, then."

  He led, the rest followed, and they took emergency stairs, which he knew were less monitored.

  At the first landing he said, "We have three routes from here. Patch Bart."

  Well enough so far, Bart thought. He always looked naturally calm outside. Inside, though . . . they would take fire soon. He and Aramis were point, so one of them was likely to go down. They didn't have enough firepower for this. He forced his breathing to normal so he wouldn't hyperventilate, and relaxed his grip on his weapon. That just made his toes curl, trying to grip the deck. Something had to happen soon.

  Mbuto bandaged his arm, and he winced. He'd lied. He was functional, yes, but the pain was disorienting and nauseating. Something Mbuto poured into the wound numbed it to a cool ache, and a few breaths let him recover enough to consider himself properly functional. It wasn't a critical structural injury, but . . .

  "You've got torn muscle and a tendon," Mbuto said. "I don't have time to fix here, but it's about a ten minute job if we get the time. I have cleaned, dressed and sterilized, with a local nerve block and general analgesic."

  "I can move for now. It's a bit weak." About sixty percent, but he would manage.

  Aramis said, "Move," and gestured while turning.

  Up another level, and then two turns and into an access corridor, that seemed to match with the large cargo elevator near the trolley station below. It was sealed and sectioned.

  "Have the masks ready," Bart said. "This is where there could be a blowout."

  "Concur," Alex said. "Especially as it's been evacuated of civilians."

  "Stop," Elke said.

  Bart stopped. The rest stopped behind him.

  Elke slid over to the wall and along, probed at something very delicately, then reached for wires. She fiddled and manipulated like a watchmaker, shaking her numb and injured wrist a couple of times before proceeding.

  "Single file," she ordered.

  Aramis gulped and went first. Bart followed while feeling a flush. What had she disarmed?

  As he reached the pressure door, Jason pushed past carefully and tapped a code into the control console. It flashed angry red. Sighing, he plugged his DataMob into it and went to work. More seconds wasted, but the door accepted his overrides and opened. As it clicked, Bart raised his carbine.

  Still nothing.

  That was disturbing.

  They cleared and entered the next section and pushed on.

  A loud bang! was followed by a sudden drop in pressure. Bart reached for his mask as shapes erupted from behind a panel.

  Aramis was quick. He was already masked, and fired suppressing fire that made three of the first five figures flinch.

  Another explosion, behind them, shook the air and walls. Bart forced himself not to react. His position was forward. He got his mask in place and commenced fire.

  Jason dropped in front of him and skittered sideways, and was not wearing a mask. Bart wondered about that, but he kept shooting.

  It was over quickly. The five attackers went down, leaking blood and with some twitching, and Aramis unmasked, so Bart did, too, once he confirmed the rest weren't having trouble.

  Wind howled and roared. It came in through a hole in the door behind them that Elke had apparently blown, and vented up through the corridor roof. That hole had been intended as a boobytrap, and Elke had provided a field expedient air supply. Of course, air was now venting, which would require more maintenance in a hurry, but that wasn't a problem for them. Or rather, it was more of a problem for their enemy.

  Over the roar, Jason said, "This door is locked out due to the leak."

  Alex said, "They'll definitely know we are here. Break it."

  "I have an override code," Jason said. "Until they change them or override them."

  A moment later the door moved, then jammed because of air pressure, then moved a bit more. It was enough for them to squeeze through in single file, and it lessened the howl from the other leak a bit. Bart had to really squeeze. His arm dragged past the door edge and he winced and grunted. Pain.

  Once through, he poked his knife into a crevice on the door and helped shove it closed. The force and strength needed took some of the edge off the screaming nerves.

  Another short squad poked muzzles out. Aramis fired a burst and went prone, needlessly shouting, "Contact front!"

  Bart followed suit, and then Elke tossed something that bounced around the corner—one of her grenades. She shouted, "Fireinth—" BANG! and the blast made Jason's brain shake inside his head. His ears rang even with the earbuds in, and he knew it was devastating to whomever was around that corner.

  Still, a handful of others jumped in from a side door and tried to either threaten or hose them down. Two got shot and one looked very surprised at an arrow that suddenly grew from his throat. He gurgled, though Jason could only see it, not hear well, and the man went down in convulsive twitches.

  Bart and Aramis rose, rolled into the cross hallway, stood and panned, and shouted, "Clear!" together.

  Shaman patted Caron down. She looked rather disturbed.

  "It's always tough the first time you shoot someone," he told her softly.

  "No, it's not that," she said. "I shot earlier. I had to shoot past your shoulder, about ten centimeters."

  "Oh. Thanks."

  Perhaps it would hit her later, he thought. Or perhaps she was too pissed off to really care. Or was she the same type of sociopath her uncle was? No, not likely.

  They turned left at the corner, and Jason moved to herd Caron along. She didn't need to see bodi
es broken and bruised by the grenade.

  "We have movement down that hall!" Aramis reported.

  Then Alex' phone buzzed. He glanced at the number on display. Ontos.

  "This is me," he said.

  "Hello me, this is the other me. I believe we're close."

  "Seems like. Are your people ready?"

  "Yes, give me the word."

  "I don't want to meet a crowd. No offense."

  "Understood. I'm coming with two."

  The connection dropped.

  Alex looked up and said, "Be prepared to kill them, just in case."

  Caron didn't seem surprised anymore.

  Ontos appeared clearly down the hall, with two others, who were armed but not presenting. One of them was Sauers. The other was a bearded, graying man with a large rifle.

  "Mister Sauers?" Alex asked.

  "I never liked that son of a bitch, and I didn't want to wind up drafted. So I defected."

  "Welcome, then. And you, sir?" he asked of the other.

  "John Hammill," the man offered in a gravelly voice. "Former recon. I do a little demolition for mister Eggett. He sent me along. I brought this." He held up an antique rifle.

  Jason squinted and said, "That's a Garand . . . "

  "'The finest implement of battle ever devised,' according to General George Patton."

  "Didn't he say that quite some time ago?"

  "Nineteen forty two."

  "You mean the year and not the time, right?" State of the art, two centuries past.

  "It's a fine weapon," he insisted.

  Alex shrugged. "Heck, it's a weapon. Bring it along."

  Caron furrowed her brow and asked, "How did he manage to get that here?"

  Jason shook his head and grinned. "I don't think that's important right now."

  Ontos said, "They locked down the passage to Operations hard. Then they had to unlock it to let all their staff out. Then some of the staff decided it smelled better in Ops than up here. Then they had to send their thugs down to politely request presence, or not have their safety guaranteed in the pending mine uprising."