Do Unto Others-ARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  "Think psychology," Elke said. She pulled the second to last of her door-busters from her belt and slid it home. It was too large for the cassette and had to go in manually.

  She signaled for backup, Aramis nodded, and she skipped past the corner in a low crouch.

  The shot blew her back two dancing steps and spun her half around. Even with notice, the shock wave was deafening and painful. But the impact . . .

  The lead man literally exploded in a mist that sprayed over his buddies and the walls and floor and ceiling. It was as bad as the explosive grenades had done, but this was worse because it was done with pure hydrostatic shock, and in full view of everyone.

  The other six screamed and dropped their weapons, wiped at their faces and only managed to turn the goo pink and slimy.

  Aramis and Bart zapped all of them in quick succession, and an odor with a tinge of fried bologna joined the horrific smell.

  Caron seemed rather numb to it all, now. She'd seen people shot, stabbed, smashed, broken apart, pureed, blown to shreds . . . it might affect her later, but for now she was so overwhelmed nothing really impinged on her anymore. Shaman might want to have tranks handy afterward, though. Hell, Aramis could use one himself.

  They were close now, and the remaining guards did not have the best morale. They were retreating, which was good. They were all going to gather at the office door, though, which was bad. This was getting proper military in its tactics.

  Aramis said, "We're going to need full frontal assault. I'll lead."

  Alex said, "Go." It sounded quite casual, almost conversational.

  Aramis dug into a sprint while reloading with his last fresh magazine. They had little enough left. From now on, he'd have to run dry and reload instead of doing them hot. He could abandon the magazines, though.

  Jason took second right behind him, point shooting cameras as they went, usually from around a corner and before anyone else was in view. They strung out slightly behind him, but kept the space close enough for mutual support.

  They reached the elevator as Aramis stuck his muzzle between the doors as soon as they opened.

  Nothing.

  Jason moved in right behind him, pulled out his wrecking bar, and ripped the cover off the controls.

  "Overhead," he said. He slid the bar through his harness, reached into a pouch and pulled out a module and extension cables. He snaked his hand through the mess inside the box, chose two cables, and attached the fiberoptic leeches to them.

  Bart had the roof hatch open by that time, looked up through it, nodded and bent double. Shaman clambered up his back and through. Aramis hopped up lightly, then Elke. Bart stood up, grabbed Caron and straight armed her up through the hole for the others to haul her up. He bent again, Alex went up, then Jason. Bart simply heaved his head above the opening and they hauled him up.

  Jason whispered, "Up we go," and fingered his remote. The elevator doors closed and it started to rise along well-greased rack gears.

  Aramis had the hatch back in place, and Elke sprawled down with her shotgun.

  "Gas round," she said softly.

  The elevator was an obvious choke point to stop them, but there wasn't much choice. The emergency stairs would be slower, and an outside ascent too obvious. However, Caron gave them some slight shielding. They didn't want her shot publicly, and Alex was pretty sure that the contracted mercs wouldn't support outright murder. Killing off the team for "kidnapping" or arranging some accident for the bodies was possible. Cold blooded killing of an interested party was just a bit risky. On the other hand, a lot of money was at stake.

  Everyone was breathing hard, and it wasn't just exertion. This had become a real, if low intensity, war zone, and the threats included toxic atmosphere as well as physical violence.

  Alex felt the elevator move, and the passing rails and structure slipped down, then slowed to a stop.

  The doors opened and there was a quick, loud rattle of small arms. That was expected, and familiar, and Alex felt oddly better. A threat you understood was preferable to the strange.

  Aramis yanked the hatch, and Elke fired her gas round. It ricocheted and popped. Then she fired again, then once more.

  She thumbed a control and announced, "Five hostiles, farmost from door, with cover." That last shot had been a recon round.

  Aramis nodded, hopped, and dropped through shooting. He lit and bounded to the side.

  Jason fired at two struts on the elevator roof below in quick succession, and dropped through the damaged section, which would put him behind cover next to the door. It mostly worked. His sleeve ripped on a protrusion and he yelped in pain as it tore a chunk from his shoulder.

  Aramis fired a long, suppressive burst, over a second, that let Shaman drop down behind Jason. Jason leaned out slightly and fired another burst, walking it toward one of the hostiles.

  The cover was drums full of something, probably dirt, that would soak up a large amount of fire.

  Nope, he realized as he hit one. Liquid started spurting. Thick, viscous liquid, probably a soap. That would just play hell with traction.

  Elke shouted, "Get off the floor. Mine."

  His guts clamped down as he heard that, and he leapt forward and out, diagonally. That left him figuratively with his balls out.

  Aramis went the other way, which at least split the hostile attention. Shaman came straight up the middle and wiped out on the soap. He'd been behind the door and hadn't seen it.

  Shaman didn't let that stop him from firing in that direction, right at the bottom of the drums. That was smart. As they drained, they'd lose barrier effect.

  Then he stopped thinking for a moment as the elevator exploded.

  Elke was right. The floor had been mined and now was no more. That complicated things a bit, and they were now split. He wondered why someone hadn't blown a hole in it earlier.

  Still, the smoke, residual gas and swift assault had the five, now four hostiles busy. A shotgun blast from the elevator took out another. The three remaining swung toward Shaman and the elevator, and Aramis tagged another, right through the mask and face.

  The other two decided it wasn't worth more fight, and threw their weapons down and hands up.

  Well, that was good.

  Jason took a deep breath, and nodded to Aramis, who moved forward. Jason was the better marksman. He'd cover. He'd also take out that camera there. He swung and fired, and the detainees twitched. Aramis didn't flinch at all. They operated almost as a gestalt.

  Quickly, Aramis cuffed them, cuffed them together and left them back to back. He looped a bungee cord around their throats, which wouldn't choke them yet, but would definitely slow down any attempt to get upright or escape. He ripped off their belts and slashed their pockets to minimize hideouts, and pulled the magazines from their weapons. Same model. Good.

  Shaman was back on his feet by then, and wiped off his soles with a rag. The rest of him could be slippery for now.

  "Help," Elke said.

  Jason turned to see her hanging by her ankles in the elevator, over the gaping hole the charge had blown. Bart and Alex held her feet, and she was upside down over a hundred meters of sheer drop, her fact turning red from pooling blood and pale from fear of heights. He carefully stood at the ledge, being wary of the shredded opening himself, and extended a hand, then the other.

  She gibbered slightly as they lowered her legs through, and he leaned back and yanked to get her onto the floor. As he did so, she clutched at him tightly.

  Shaman and Aramis kept a close eye on things. As Bart lowered Alex, Jason took him by one hand and one leg until he could grab the door and swing through. Caron came down the same way, but had to be directed.

  "Swing your right arm forward, grab the frame. Now the left. Lean onto me. Now step down," and she was in. The poor kid was wide-eyed, racing-hearted and numb. She wasn't hindering them, but wasn't much help anymore. Still, she'd lasted this long and they were down to the ending, hopefully.

  Bart shimmied d
own through the hatch a bit at a time. His shoulders barely fit at an angle. Then he hung in a solid pullup position, swung and released. His feet made it to the solid floor, and Alex and Jason grabbed his hands.

  With everyone accounted for, and the two detainees drugged by Shaman, they had one door into the office.

  So Alex said, "Elke, take us through the wall into that adjoining room, please, and proceed with what we discussed."

  Elke seemed to have recovered from her suspension over a pit, and flashed a slightly toothy grin as she rolled out two strips of explosive, capped them, stepped back and fired the shot.

  Aramis shrugged and took point. As lowest ranking and most expendable, he knew his position and had a good attitude about it. They moved through into the vacant space that had been part of Bryan's apartment. It seemed mostly vacant now. Sociopath that he was, Joe had tossed most of the personal effects. Hell, the bastard might even have sold them for a few marks. He was that kind of tightwad.

  Elke went to work on a charge for the wall to the office, not the door. The rest checked ammo, sipped water, and Shaman bound up the nasty triangular divot in Jason's shoulder. He winced a bit, and accepted a topical and some pain pills. It was minor, but fucking painful. Shaman did good work, and it was less painful almost at once.

  Alex said, "Okay, we go through here, face them down, and try to negotiate a peace. They get one chance to comply, or we take them out. They may be fellow professionals, but they picked the wrong side and it's gotten way out of hand. This is worse than diamond wars in Africa."

  "I can confirm that," Shaman said. "Very messy."

  "Are we sure the adjoining charges are ready?"

  "Yes," Elke said. "Move now."

  Alex nodded and pointed, and they stacked up for entry.

  Caron was last, behind Alex, and he goosed Shaman. The grope went all the way forward to Aramis, who raised a hand and dropped it. Elke triggered the charge, the wall disappeared in a roar of dust and crud, and in they went.

  Then he was in, and they were in a protective arc with Caron toward the rear, Shaman next to her and the rest in front.

  The desk was now protected by a thick, near invisible ballistic shield and mesh for a damping field. There were protrusions around the room that were definitely for stun fields, sonic guns, other weapons. Twelve men with pistols drawn or rifles already shouldered aimed at the door in a broad arc.

  Joe said, "So, now that we are all face to face, man to man, let's discuss this like adults."

  There really wasn't much choice for the moment, Alex thought. Six of them and Caron. Twelve of the others and him. Threats on three sides, with weapons drawn.

  Alex stepped carefully forward and said, "Go ahead." Jason gingerly moved in behind him, with the others. They were carefully taking a wedge formation and preparing to move in six directions at once on a signal. Alex took a very slow, deep breath to calm himself. It almost worked.

  Joe leaned back in his chair—his brother's chair—and said, "Mister Marlow, Agent Marlow. I recall you apparently discussed with my brother that you didn't want to know what your price was. I believe I know what your price is."

  No one said anything. The silence lasted about five seconds.

  Joe continued, "Your price is a billion marks. Paid into any account in the universe. It's not enough for me to worry about, and I have no reason to betray you because I want people to understand my word is good. I never was opposed to raising wages for the drones, I just wanted to get the family, and myself, established first. It's my own security shield. It's safer for all involved. I could never get Bryan to grasp that. If one is untouchable, one has no concern about minor threats from below."

  Alex sounded rather flat when he asked, "What do I do for this billion?"

  "Ah, you can be reasonable." Joe smiled and leaned marginally forward, hands out on the desk. "Just leave. Back out armed if you like. I'll have tickets waiting at the port, for any destination you choose. You leave my lovely niece, and I promise also I won't kill her. She gets her turn at the fortune, after I die. It's just fair to keep the generations in mind."

  Alex ran a hand through his hair.

  "That's quite a substantial offer. But why wouldn't you want to keep that billion?"

  "Agent Marlow, that's less than a week's income at this point. My personal assets and domestic product exceed that of half the nations on Earth. It's cost effective and worthwhile to me, as I said, to be known as a man of my word, who rewards those who help me. Long term, it's cheaper than lawsuits, petty fines, other annoyances.

  "Alternately," the man continued, "I have the men, the emplaced weapons, total control of everything coming in or out of this office, building, dome, planet and system. I'm told that power corrupts. Absolute power, though, is rather nice. You can't shoot your way out, and if you decide to retreat, even through a hole, you will ultimately be stuck back in the mine. That's of no worry to me. If you want to squat in a hole, I won't stop you. I will ensure you never leave, have no support, and then I'll see about dismantling your employer. That same billion will buy me a lot of favors in the General Assembly. It's your call."

  Jason watched Alex clench his left hand slowly and signal, "Ready."

  That was all well and good, but had everyone else seen that? Adrenaline shock hit him as he internally prepared. He hoped it didn't show outside, though it was probably rather normal to be nervous while discussing your life or a billion marks. Or was the billion only an offer for Alex?

  Alex finally spoke, "What if I ask for ten billion?"

  Joe's eyebrows shot up. "Well, that's—"

  Jason never found out what it was. Alex dove and dropped prone while drawing.

  Jason could only think of one move. He went for his pistol and hoped it worked.

  As he gripped it, he heard shuffling behind him indicating the others taking cover or raising weapons. The motley mob in front of him started scrabbling with their own guns. They were too late, he hoped. He saw everything in the icy clarity that meant he still had control of the situation, for as long as he could keep it.

  He started from the waist, point shooting, and forced his vision not to tunnel. The pistol fell snugly into place, pointed straight forward and he fired. One goon had his shotgun almost up. Jason shifted and fired and hit him. Then he started skating diagonally right forward.

  Most shooters would expect an opponent to retreat. Most also were ready to deal with forward or backward motion of the target, just as typical training ranges did. Jason was advancing on the oblique, though, which threw most people off.

  He turned back to his left and fired at the next threat, a man with his pistol coming up to eye height, who dropped it and clutched at the bloom high on his chest, just below the throat, before coughing, puking a gout of gore and collapsing.

  Jason had his pistol at chest height now, and he fired as he panned across the scattering mass, hitting three.

  Joe dove for his desk despite the shields, two guards tight around him. Mentally, Jason tagged them as the real threats. The rest were scattering with only some badly aimed cover fire. In that time, Jason nailed two more, one in the guts, screaming, and one in the face, dead.

  A shotgun blast behind him made him cringe, but it was behind him. Aramis? It didn't matter. It was friendly fire and it blew off an arm that protruded from behind a chair. The former owner howled in shock and horror as he bolted upright, stared at the gush of red spilling from the stump then collapsed.

  Another blast. Rubble rained, ricocheted, pelted and scattered. As the bang echoed away, shrieking wind ripped back. That was Elke. Good girl! She'd just blown the hole into the damaged dome.

  The pressure dropped fast, and the remaining goons and Uncle Joe snatched for their emergency masks, without wondering why there was a pressure drop. It took a moment, then a couple realized the Ripple Creek troops were not reaching for theirs. They hesitated, attention caught between masks and weapons.

  Then a cacophonic barrage of fire droppe
d them like the silhouette targets they'd made themselves. That had to be Aramis with the shotgun, and Bart to the left. Jason carefully picked off three who'd thought ahead enough to take cover before donning masks, but left enough head exposed for him to punch lead through.

  Then Elke's second bomb pierced the lower section beyond the first, one that wasn't evacuated. Air started rushing back in, just as Jason gasped and had to strain for a breath.

  Two breaths later, pressure was near normal, the roaring wind and blasts had mostly stopped, though his ears rang and stung. The contaminated air was not sweet, but should be healthy enough until the ventilation system cleared it out. It made his eyes water and lungs burn, but he'd trained for things like that. Not these goons.

  The office parlor area was an abattoir with the stink of guts, blood, propellant, some atmosphere, explosive residue. It was actually reassuring for Jason. It was his environment.

  Elke came forward briskly, slapped a charge down at the base of the ballistic bubble, and danced back. She didn't bother with a warning, just keyed a code and the device fuzed. It was a very sharp basso crash with a white flash. The team twitched, but Prescot and his remaining thugs ducked and cowered. The blast, however, did no more than crack the shield.

  Elke looked wide-eyed and surprised. Then she flushed in embarrassment. Jason couldn't recall her ever having a misfire.

  Without pause, she unslung her shotgun, pulled the last of those insane armor piercing rounds from her harness, and slid it home.

  Jason wasn't the only one who plugged his nearest ear. He wished he could do both, even with the noise-cancelling earbuds, but he needed the other hand for his weapon.

  By now, though, Prescot was smirking. Clearly, he didn't have any idea what Elke was about to . . .

  Jason thought his head was being torn off. The shockwave literally punched him, the ballistic plastic shattered into several large jagged sections that tumbled free, Elke jumped and hopped to regain her balance, and Bart and Aramis were through.