Do Unto Others-ARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  He dialed the speed up bit by bit, then backed it down again toward the top. It almost certainly had safety interlocks, but he wasn't convinced they'd work. Twenty-five stories seemed like a lot, but as huge as the suites were, it didn't hold nearly the people it could. He assumed some of the crowd below were from elsewhere, visiting the casino and lounge.

  He stepped out on the top floor, and looked for a control to hold the plate. That seemed to be the switch, marked with "Hold," which he pressed. He turned for the first door, presuming any suite would have windows and they were all close enough to the center to work. The door was locked, didn't respond to a kick, but did respond to bullets through the locks. On the one hand, that was lacking in security. On the other hand, no one came here who'd be a petty thief, the hotel had its own security, and they probably assumed they had 100% control of anyone departing. That, and a combination of cost and tradition.

  He forgot that in a sprint through a beautiful parlor, with imported furniture that looked Indian and handmade.

  The easiest way to do this was off the balcony. He slid the door, rolled to the ground, and wrapped the sling firmly around his arm. It wouldn't do to drop it now. Then he checked the instructions on the side, muttered to himself, and slid the caps off. It extended as he thought, then he squeezed it through the railing, abrading his fingers as he did so.

  He fumbled, dropped it, and had to haul it back on the sling. Sighing, he twisted it into position again.

  "What the hell are you doing?" someone shouted.

  Sighing louder, Horace fumbled left handed, swung up his baton and fired.

  The hotel rentacop uttered, "Son of a bitch," and dove behind the couch, probably fumbling for his own stunner of some description.

  Horace dropped the baton, pulled on the sling, pressed with his fingers, got the thing as straight as possible, and yanked the trigger. The rocket bang-hissed in a wave of ammoniac heat, and he dropped the assembly. Hit or miss, it was useless now.

  A beam chilled his left calf.

  He groped around, found his own baton, fired back, and missed. It was now a case of two men swapping shots a second apart until one got stunned. Three exchanges later, he scored. The guard went down in a heap.

  Horace shivered in relief and looked up.

  The rocket had blown out a meter-wide hole that cracked in an arc, but didn't cause any further fall.

  The difference was dramatic, though. He pulled his mask on quickly.

  The outside atmosphere dropped through in an ugly ochre column. It started adding to the layer below, causing it to billow in waves. Not that it would fill quickly, but it was another provable threat that would keep building. It was almost pretty, like a pillar of smoke in reverse.

  No time for that. He had to limp back to the team and hope the tingle wore off shortly.

  Alex looked up when Jason said, "I see something."

  Yes, a definite hole, and a definite leak. Good man, Shaman. That would get everyone inside faster, which would reduce the traffic and the threats, though it would make them more visible, too.

  It also took care of most of the miners. They had short term breathing gear with them as they always did, but it was only short term. Once the yellow clouds swirled in, they started retreating, and even the laggards were gone in a few minutes.

  Bart said, "You do realize there will be some excessive force and possibly rapes?"

  "I'd hoped to avoid it," Caron replied. "I will deal with them afterward, since we have everyone's DNA on file."

  "Who has legal jurisdiction here?" Aramis asked.

  "We do," she said, looking a bit vicious. "It's not as if any complaints will go anywhere."

  Bart raised eyebrows at that. Absolute power had many benefits, if used wisely. However, absolute power had created this mess.

  Alex swapped glances with him. Their job was to protect her, not judge her morals. Nor was she unjustified in having a vengeful streak. That was something to discuss later.

  Aramis still had the lead.

  "Through the Palazzo," he said, pointing at a casino. "We can connect through a service tunnel."

  Alex wasn't sure the most direct route was the best, but they were in a hurry.

  The main doors were obviously sealed, but Aramis led the way to a service door, about a meter and a half high. He waved, and Jason stepped forward to run the lock. These were easy. Joe had done a piss poor job of changing codes on stuff he controlled, and completely neglected everything else. Aramis pulled the door and in they went.

  The corridor inside was high enough and industrial. It had positioning tags a robot might use, and was obviously meant for maintenance access behind the main kitchen. They followed him down, and around another corner. Alex was glad the man knew where he was going. He must have the maps memorized, as no one was risking a locator of any kind, and there hadn't been a dead reckoner handy.

  Around the corner, though. .

  It was surreal. One moment they were in a sere, faded corridor, then through a door and they were in a deluxe function room, reinforced but pretty.

  Of course the basement was a shelter. Foundation grade concrete, reinforced, with thick sealant and with shock foam underneath. It was the safest place to be on this planet.

  Two of the regular security guards, who were basically EMTs with supplemental authority, acted as shepherds for a hundred or so rich socialites.

  Aramis said, "Good evening," as he disarmed the first. The second made to protest, then decided he was outnumbered.

  "No harm," Alex said. "Just passing through."

  Someone loudly asked, "Miss Prescot? You're alive!"

  Well, there went that.

  "She's alive," Alex said, "and we're planning to keep her that way against the current threat."

  "Current threat?" a man in a silk dinner jacket replied. "I believe the current threat affects everyone. That's the second nuke this company's had trouble with."

  The noise picked up, lots of people commenting and arguing. Alex saw the team fan out slightly to widen the area around Caron.

  The man asked, "Miss Prescot, what do you plan to do about all this?"

  She looked at Alex first, who nodded fractionally. He couldn't appear to be manipulating her, which was one of the things he hated about public missions.

  Caron said, "First, I have to get to my office and consult with my staff. I can't do anything from here."

  One of the guards said, "The problem is that the doors have sealed against contamination and won't open."

  That wasn't a problem for Elke, he was sure. However, if those safety protocols were in place, it did mean the atmosphere was toxic enough to be a risk.

  "Caron?" he asked quietly.

  "I'm not entirely sure," she said.

  Naturally, the moment before she said that was the moment all other conversation paused for a second.

  Jason asked the staffer, "Got backup pressure and filters?"

  "They're already in effect," the man said. "They can manage a few minutes at most. That's the whole point of this shelter."

  That probably wasn't the kind of thing he should say in a conversational tone in front of panicked guests, Alex thought.

  About then the comment sank in and the crowd started buzzing again, some nervous and frightened comments, some demands, some shushes and reasonable tones. Things got a bit pushy, and Alex wondered how long it would last.

  Right then, the man in the dinner jacket said, "Well, I would guess we need to take a vote on what to do."

  "We're not voting," Alex said. There was always someone who couldn't figure out reality.

  The crowd pushed a bit more. They looked on the verge of a full blown panic.

  And this is where I earn my pay, and risk my employer's wrath, he thought.

  "I don't see where you, as a mere bodyguard, get off on telling the rest of us what to do. Do you have any idea who I am?"

  That was a useful opener. Alex settled for his baton. He raised it, clicked and zapp
ed, and the man fell down twitching.

  To the place where he had stood, Alex said, "You are not Miss Prescot, therefore you are merely in the way. You will do as you're told. Now, I need a clear path to that door." He pointed at the far side.

  The wide eyes and silence from the rest indicated that he had their attention. They drew back and left a clear passage three meters wide.

  Alex fixed the local guard with a gaze.

  "You will stay here. We will get things fixed."

  He led the way down the parted sea, and through the door.

  Once they were through, Aramis said, "Sorry about that, boss. I made a map. I didn't check the secondary emergency pressure doors, only the primaries."

  "We didn't anticipate needing them, and there are a lot of buildings, but we'll learn from it. Elke, can you do minimal damage to the door so they can keep partial pressure? I'd hate to kill a few hundred prize customers. Especially as they're also potential customers of ours."

  "You fucked that when you shot the blbe," she said. "I will try."

  She slipped in front and had some kind of device already in hand. It was small, but while she usually went for overkill, that overkill rarely looked like it.

  "Jason," she said, "Please work the lock."

  "You may as well cut it," he said. "No time."

  "Understood."

  She swapped charges, placed the new one over the door's module, held up five fingers and pressed her detonator.

  She faced the blast. Alex did also. The others pulled Caron back and faced away.

  The bang was almost anticlimactic. However, it did destroy the module. That done, Elke pointed at the latch overrides, and hefted her demolition hammer. Aramis took the top one, she the bottom, and with some heavy swings they released the door's locking bars.

  Bart stepped forward and kicked it open, and they proceeded through. Elke came last and slapped the door closed again.

  "That was good, Elke. Remember that."

  "I have a hard time remembering boring occurrences, but I will try."

  "Two blocks diagonal," Aramis said, "and there's Shaman."

  Mbuto came running up, and Ontos' element was just behind.

  Ahead, though, was a milling blockage of armed men, facing the remaining supporting miners. They were in reasonable formation and forming a solid mass.

  "Looks like Joe has a few hundred extra muscle . . . with familiar looking guns."

  "Did he pay them off?" Caron asked.

  Jason almost smirked. "Of course he paid some off! He's got unlimited resources."

  Aramis said, "As Ontos said, they figure his odds are better than yours, and this way, they make points and get promoted. The losers at least get sent home, maybe die. They figure the worst you'll do is send them home with legal costs."

  Caron sighed. "Why is being good billed as such a good thing?"

  Alex gripped her shoulder. "We're going to make it a good thing."

  "We will still need our miners," Bart said.

  "Yes, and this is going to get really messy."

  Caron said, "Money won't fix this, will it?"

  "Money will mop up the blood," Alex said, scanning the dome. "I'm not sure about the hurt and image."

  Caron said, "I think it's tragic, but they've made a choice and will have to deal with it."

  "Healthy answer," he said. As long as she meant it. It was a tough kind of call even for an experienced adult, much less a kid barely out of college.

  Jason suddenly said, "I need height."

  Aramis swung and buried his demolition axe in the extruded concrete of the wall. Following that lead, Bart did the same a meter higher.

  Jason scrabbled and heaved and hauled himself up the building face as crumbling chunks fell, half-slipped and scraped himself as he reached the first balcony level with fingertips, but did so and then pulled while his muscles bulged and swung a leg up. Thirty seconds after it started, he was four meters up with a clear field of fire. He leaned over the railing and began slow, measured shots.

  His shooting was always master class, though the short carbine was not as good as a rifle. Still, two shots out of three punched into flesh and caused a steady depletion of the enemy. They shot back, but their weapons were too crude to be of much effect at that range.

  Elke raised her shotgun, sent a recon round in a high arc, then ducked behind cover. She used her palm comm to select a couple of photos and pinged them via area net to Jason and Aramis. Aramis waved to Bart, and the two of them slipped off to one side and through an access alley. Shaman and Alex hunkered down around Caron. She made only token gestures of protest.

  A sudden flurry of fairly heavy fire into the mob, from the right, had to be Bart and Aramis. That, and Jason's recon-improved marksmanship reduced the mob's threat considerably.

  Then Elke rose and fired two more rounds, the cassette spinning to pluck the requisite loads. Both arced out while whistling, and burst just above the battle at head height in brilliant, dazzling flashes of zirconium, not lethal, but very scary and distracting.

  The combined onslaught led to a rout. Most of the pack—since it couldn't properly be called a company—scattered in every direction.

  "Yeah, I expected that," Alex said. "You're not even going to find out who they are, unless your uncle managed to get real names."

  Jason rejoined them from above. He had a crease from a bullet along one arm, and some small cuts where a ricochet had sprayed lead and concrete over him.

  "We're going to need the supplementals," he said.

  Alex nodded and made the call.

  Ontos, Hammill, and Sauers came running over. Hammill was covered in dust.

  "I guess we're going through there," Alex pointed at the surface level of the main block, "and up as far as you gentlemen are willing to help." Or until I decide you're too close for my comfort, he added silently.

  Sauers gave a slight shove and rolled forward on his board. He still had that thing. He had two of the carbines slung, and raised one. He didn't seem to fire at anything in particular, just light suppressing fire.

  "Where's Hammill?" Jason asked.

  The massive roar of the Garand answered that question, and in front of the office, someone armed in a mask went down with a hole in his leg.

  "Ludovico's a good man," Hammill said as he sighted again. "I'd hate to kill him if I don't have to."

  His second shot caught someone else.

  Ontos had signaled his men by then, and the whole area erupted in small firefights. Bad, because that meant a lot of stray fire. Good, because Caron wasn't as likely to "accidentally" die in a rebellion. This was something the team were trained for.

  Still, there were a few hardcases near the entrance, behind the concrete pots and other decorations that were really intended as fighting positions. They improved the defensive position of anyone.

  "They can't really stop us, though they'll know we're coming."

  Ontos said, "We can be another distraction for you."

  "Can you?"

  "Then we disappear, and you don't look for us. If it works out, I'll leave contact information for you in case we're needed. If it doesn't, we don't exist and no one ever saw us. I'm risking as much here as you are."

  Caron said, "I accept, Ontos. I will see that you and your friends are properly rewarded afterwards."

  "If it's all the same to you, ma'am, we don't need the money. Just improve the food and other support and we'll take care of ourselves. And the name's (getname)"

  "Straight in," Alex said. "Time versus stealth. Gentlemen, would you?"

  Ontos shook his head and grinned.

  "You're a paranoid asshole and I don't blame you. Alright, Ham, let's do it."

  Hammill shouted, "Go!" and lit off on the oblique.

  It was obvious that man had military training. He scampered low across the narrow road, rolled behind a planter and took a shot, then back across the other way. Ontos flitted from cornice to cornice, light and fast, firing potshots. Saue
rs zipped past firing short bursts.

  Behind that, Aramis and Bart bounded out, tucked in and sprinted for the door, firing suppressing shots that were close enough to be serious. Shaman and Jason took Caron, Alex and Elke brought up the rear, with him scanning for threats and she firing all around. She had several smoke grenades from somewhere, tiny things with outrageous outputs. A couple of small but sharp bangs added to the fear, and made their fire sound significantly more potent than it was.

  Hammill's rifle was beyond painful. Every round sent ripples through the haze and punched their ears. That served as an admirable distraction. Most of the fire was aimed, badly, at him.

  Those planters, though, stopped everything. Elke cursed, sprinted in front, and Shaman responded by moving back to fill the hole she left.

  Bart and Aramis kept fire irregularly, but consistently at them, to keep the men skulking behind in place. Elke pulled two somethings from her bag of tricks and tossed them one at a time. Two more of her finned footballs. These ones impacted behind the planters and exploded back toward them. Screams and curses presaged a tumbling chunk of mangled hand arcing up and out.

  Aramis leapt in a very non-tactical manner in a parabola directly over the rightmost tub. He started punching, smashing whoever was back there, a solid three hits that seemed to quell the threat. Those ballistic gloves added so much to a punch, his hand came back dripping blood.

  Hammill came round the side of the building, and shot point blank at someone. More blood sprayed from the cacophonous brutality of the primitive cannon on mere flesh.

  He stayed alive, because he made sure to lower the rifle as the sprinting team came up the final meters of the ramp. Jason's muzzle remained covering him, to which he shrugged.

  Sauers came round the other way with a carbine under each arm, slung down. The barrels smoked, which shouldn't be, because there wasn't that much ammo. Then Alex did a double take. Those were the SKs the Ex Ek troops carried, with spare magazines. So Ex Ek had picked a side here. Too bad.

  "We're here, and we're going it alone," Alex said.

  Hammill nodded. "You can thank me later."

  "Believe me, we will. Want to hunker down inside?"

  "And hold the door for you? Thanks, but no. I'm for moving out fast, becoming not an obstacle, and retiring. On the way I can shoot a few to keep them distracted, if that's okay."