Do Unto Others-ARC

  DO UNTO OTHERS . . .—ARC

  Michael Z. Williamson

  Advance Reader Copy

  Unproofed

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 by Michael Z. Williamson

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4391-3383-2

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4391-3383-5

  Cover art by Kurt Miller

  First printing, August 2010

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Williamson, Michael Z.

  t/k

  Pages by Joy Freeman (www.pagesbyjoy.com)

  Printed in the United States of America

  To Jim Fuson

  For a sincere kindness.

  Prologue

  Aramis Anderson flinched as a bullet cracked past his head. That was a bit closer than he liked. He took the suggestion though, and rolled low past Elke Sykora. She fired again at one of the targets appearing through a doorway.

  He returned the favor, gapping one just as it jumped into view, straight through the right eye.

  "EGRESS!" he heard. That was Alex Marlow, team commander, and Aramis bounced forward to make a hole between two doorways. That put him squarely into view of another doorway, and he kept his weapon loose and ready.

  Except that another figure popped past the window, firing as it went. He got it, but a bullet whizzed past him simultaneously. Behind him, four team members carried their civilian principal struggling and screaming out the front door. Elke shouted "Fireinthehole!"

  His heart went schizo and tried to go two directions at once. If Elke was about to set off a charge, he needed to be outside, fast. He slipstepped back, feeling assorted debris under and around his feet, but he cleared the front doorway without trouble, and went into low zigzag. More bullets snapped past to bury themselves in the walls, as Bart and Jason provided cover fire around him.

  Behind him he heard pop, pop, WHAM! and he guessed Elke had set a charge of smoke, incapacitance gas and explosive. Bits of something stung him like annoying insects, with an occasional numbing smack of something a little larger.

  Alex said, "Flames. Call the fire department."

  Elke shook her head. "No need."

  A moment later another explosion blew the flames out. Whatever gases it released effectively cut off oxygen, and the smolders from her first shot drifted away in the breeze.

  It was always a tremendous rush to do a live fire drill. It was also phenomenal training, an incredible team building technique, and fun. He wished they'd had time when they first met. He'd have started off a lot better with Elke. By the time they started these drills, he already knew the woman could shoot, and was an explosives whiz. He regretted the way he'd talked down to her at the time. She didn't seem to hold a grudge, though. And, if she wasn't going to mention the bullet he'd put centimeters past her ear, he wasn't going to mention the one she'd put past his.

  Their "principal" was also their company CEO, who pushed up from the dirt he was lying in. The screams had been acting for effect. He was completely calm now, which most people would not be after six heavily armed troops shot up the kidnappers around them and blew the building up.

  "That was sexy," he said with a grin. "And very, very smooth. I'll be sure to find more work for you."

  They shook hands all around, smiling. Aramis felt a load lift.

  That was, until Shaman Mbuto, the team's surgeon said, "You appear to have a nick here, Aramis."

  He twisted to look at his shoulder. Sure enough, he had a streak on the fabric, and he could feel a bruise underneath, tender to the exploratory probing. It was gel, not a real bullet, but it still counted as a hit. On the other hand, a few scrapes and dings were inevitable, and he'd had a lot worse.

  On the other hand, Bart Weil announced, "So Aramis is buying the drinks tonight."

  Aramis groaned. The big, grizzled German could consume beer like a bilge pump on the ships he used to crew. Some of the others had expensive tastes, but not the sheer volume Bart did.

  Jason Vaughn said, "Hmm . . . I'm tasting . . . Elijah Craig? No, I think it's Ardbeg. Mmm . . . good stuff."

  It was going to be a long, expensive night.

  Chapter 1

  Alex Marlow had just been tasked to guard the richest woman in the universe. He wondered why he wasn't twitchy.

  Of course, his team hadn't been told that yet. Nor had he started the mission. Both of those would raise the stress level.

  He and four of them were awaiting the sixth member, who was uncharacteristically late.

  "Where the hell is Elke?" Aramis snapped in frustration.

  "She's probably mining her apartment for practice, or defusing her comm, or having an intimate experience with her shotgun," Jason Vaughn offered. "Regardless, you're not going to make her appear faster." He smiled wryly.

  Aramis was a bit more than half Jason's age, and it showed. He twitched, all youth and energy. Jason sat in a couch, comfortable and calm.

  For calm, however, Jason had nothing on Bart Weil, the big German, who leaned against the wall and barely gave evidence of being alive. His eyes took in everything, though.

  That left Horace "Shaman" Mbuto, the team's surgeon, as the odd one out. He was older even than Alex, ancient by the standards of executive protection, and making use of the time to inventory a surgical kit.

  They seemed a bit motley, but in the executive protection business, they were the best, and had been a team for a year now. He couldn't imagine breaking them up. The mixed skill sets meshed perfectly, and the personality clashes were minor and only added flavor. They were Ripple Creek Security's star bodyguards, and paid accordingly.

  Luckily, money was not a problem for their new principal.

  His musing was interrupted when he saw familiar movement out in the turnaround.

  "Here she comes," he said.

  Eleonora Sykora, called Elke, hated running late. Admittedly she'd enjoyed the reason for it, but still.

  They entered the Ripple Creek site on her password, and the gate flashed a warning that guest vehicles could go no further than the turnaround ahead.

  She turned to Alaric and said, "If you want to kiss me goodbye, do it now. Last chance."

  The car was on automatic. Alaric bent over and kissed her deeply, his hands roaming inside her jacket and all over her body. If he only knew how much trust she showed by letting him do that.

  "Okay, stop now," she insisted, before he got too excited again.

  "Why like this? What's wrong with kissing you goodbye when I drop you off?"

  "Because they might think I'm a girl," she said with a smile. She measured the car's deceleration and reached for the handle.

  He still looked puzzled when she jumped out. Without a word she grabbed her personal bag, closed the door and strode toward the building where she was to meet her former and again teammates.

  She hoped the new job was worthwhile. Men could be fun, but explosives were so much better. Finding reasons to use them socially was the tough part.

  Jason felt better when he saw Elke. He worried about her when she was late. They'd been friends a long time, and saved each others' butts more times than he could count. Probably everyone knew her persona was largely an act, but he knew the re
al Elke. She really was a performance artist who worked with explosives, but under that, she was very human. She just didn't let it peek out often.

  She slipped in the door and closed it behind her. The window darkened with polarizing as Alex pushed the control, and she drew a heavy drape across. Jason activated the dampening gear on the table next to him, and a few other security measures happened. It wasn't as secure as some military areas, but it should be plenty for what they needed, he hoped. Alex seemed a bit twitchy, though he probably thought he looked dead calm.

  Alex stayed sitting, but said, "I assume you all realize we have a mission."

  Bart said, "I was hoping we would be told of a pay raise and free beer."

  "You know better," Alex replied. "We have a medium duration project, on and off Earth, in civilian environments. That means limited weapons and explosives."

  Elke said, "I will send you the usual protests on this theory."

  Alex smiled back, "And I will file them in the usual way."

  Banter aside, Jason understood the concern. High profile civilian missions could be worse than those in war zones. Everyone knew you were unarmed, and your response was basically to say, "Stop, or I'll call the police!" That, or throw yourself in front of incoming fire. It came down to tactics, evasion, diversion in lieu of any confrontation of any kind. That was always the goal, of course, but for putative peacetime missions it was a legal and real imperative.

  Aramis said, "I notice we haven't been told who we're guarding."

  Elke said, "I assume we haven't been told for a reason." She gave a hint of smile.

  Alex smiled back. "You assume correctly. The OPSEC is necessary. However, you can be told now." He touched a command, which put the full screen up.

  "This is our principal," he said, and gave them time to wrap their brains around it. The silence lasted about a minute.

  Aramis said, "She's . . . "

  Jason offered, "Stunning."

  "Actress? Model?" Bart asked. "She's not one I recognize."

  "Caron Elain Prescot," Alex said.

  "The Prescot ExtraSolar Ores Group?" Elke asked.

  "Yes. Daughter of the owner."

  "He's worth how much?" Shaman asked.

  Jason, now caught up, said, "There's no way to count. He's primary shareholder of the company, and they own an entire fucking star system full of readily exploitable minerals. More money than most governments can get to play with, and no need to worry about appeasing a populace. He treats his employees well, I understand."

  "Yes," Alex said. "The employees are not likely to be a problem, other than the occasional awestruck miner who doesn't know who she is and wants a date."

  "Do I recall," Shaman said, leaning back in his seat with a furrowed brow, "that several other major shareholders are unhappy with the state of affairs?"

  "Former shareholders," Alex said. "It's been thirty years since Prescot Mining bought an option on mineral extraction rights for the system. The initial plan was terraforming. That proved infeasible, so the original title holders sold it off. However, Prescot was able to argue successfully that they retained rights based on capital outlay, not bundled with the rest. Several other nations and groups all bought in and out on rights to the system, in a decades-long financial poker game. Several times exploratory parties and habitats were started, and abandoned. Eventually, they all defaulted or cancelled and abandoned."

  "Which puts the system up for grabs again," Jason said. "Except that Prescot's claim was never abandoned."

  "Right. They basically inherited the jump point and had mineral rights to the system. They landed a habitat and laid the balance of claim, and started shipping minerals back, at a loss. Even some of the stockholders pulled out, and their consortium investors and backers dropped them."

  "I remember watching that on the stock scroll," Jason said with a grin. He'd always respected accomplishment. "The volume increased as they plowed capital into development of new tech. Once they reached break even, they had this asymptotic growth curve for about a month, then it got taken off the charts completely because it buried everything else."

  "From millions to billions?" Elke asked.

  "From millions in a billion Mark operation to trillions, quadrillions, no one knows how much," Alex said. "The Prescot family holdings went from a significant minority to majority shareholders, they basically bought their family company back, and then acquired an entire system of assets."

  "And it's our job to protect his daughter against jealous rivals," Bart said. "He can afford us, and they are hiring us because they think it's worth it."

  Aramis said, "So a private citizen is spending enough money to buy a small house every week to have us watch his daughter? Why does that sound like we'll be earning it?"

  "Yes," Alex agreed with a nod. "It's not just us. We get the daughter. Jace Cady's team gets facilities again—she's got the estate, basically. Our pilots are going to take over any ship with a family member on it, and unannounced. The boss will assign them from a pool at the last moment, so no one can make a concrete plan. This family earns in seconds what we earn in weeks."

  "That doesn't sound like fun for them," Elke said.

  "Yeah, imprisoned by your wealth," Aramis said, still staring at the screen. "She can't possibly have a social life."

  "I think I would rather be back in a war zone," Bart said.

  Shaman said, "Yes, there are definite issues we will have to deal with. This is going to be very rough."

  "I can handle it," Aramis said confidently. "Despite the vomitously obscene wealth, I plan to be as cold and professional as possible. I won't comment on her at all."

  Jason said, "Aramis, she's a high risk principal. You'll have to escort her up close, stay with her even in the shower, check her clothes when she dresses, check her skin for darts or poison patches."

  Aramis paused and stared.

  "Man, you're bullshitting me!"

  "Well, yeah, but you started it."

  Even Aramis howled with laughter at that.

  Alex was glad to see it. A lot of the early personal clashes had dissipated over the last year serving together.

  "Still," he said, "she is a beautiful young college woman, and that makes her a lot different from either a celebrity with fans or a politician with enemies. I don't know that any of us have handled a specific mission like this. Bart?"

  Bart shook his head. "Celebrities, yes. Occasional executives personally. No one at this level, and not family members subject to kidnapping or death."

  "So I want everyone to review their training, text, video and interactive. They're inadequate, but at least will help keep us in the right mindset."

  Everyone nodded.

  The Prescot industries were almost too large to manage. There was a Board of Directors, and various officers and departments, all of whom managed their share. However, as CEO of the Group, Bryan Prescot had to track all of it to some degree. Details were almost impossible. It was just too large.

  He did, however, make daily overviews, and occasionally zero in, on things that specifically interested him, or were of immediate concern.

  The list was long, though. Tourism and casinos were easy; they were contracted out. The contractors paid up front, and a percentage of gross over minimum. His brother handled all that. Scientific research was officially a loss. The research agency ate up a lot of money to look at rocks, space, whatever it wanted. Those were charged against company profits. Of course, as always, the average was for the research to lead to new sources of revenue and improvements in operational efficiency. They were good PR as well.

  Charities. The only real concern was giving away too much and causing destabilization. It was a serious worry. Prescot could easily make entire classes of people dependent, and Bryan did not want that.

  Bio sciences produced the organics, hydroponics, vat grown meats, O2 producing bacteria, other bacteria that excreted assorted chemicals and enzymes, or cracked rocks. They were even trying to tailor
one for that environment.

  Materials science, physics, space transport, all interesting stuff.

  His first love, though, was the mines. They were where the family started, and what they did. Digging rock, crushing it, extracting ore. The technology so far meant the human race would effectively never run out of resources, and made transmutation research a poor investment for the near future. Every mine on Earth, and even the asteroid mining concerns, were shutting down. They simply could not compete with a company that imported refined raw metal 500 million tons at a time, with the power to produce it supplied on site, effectively for free.

  There he'd done what he felt was right, and hired as many of his former competitors as he could, and paid for their employees to be retrained. He was making large areas of Canada, Germany, Russia, China, Africa and South America into parks, but the people who'd depended on the former mines would have starved. They liked him well enough now, and their families were not suffering, which was the important part. The goddammed eco twits, however, still hated him despite the free parks he'd built. They'd never be happy.

  They were on here, too, in Legal. Hundreds of petty, pointless lawsuits to stop his "corporate greed" and "facism" as they misspelt it, and "elitist concentration of power and wealth." They cost the company, at most, a few hundred thousand a month out of billions. They had to be watched, though, because a lucky strike with a commiserating judge could cost a lot more to fix.

  Caron smiled to Ewan and Garrick as she left the elevator. They were fixtures here, had been guarding the family since before she was born. They were like uncles to her, as much as Uncle Uncle was. Ewan gripped the door handle and opened it for her. They still used manual doors here. Tradition.

  "Diolch, Ewan," she said and smiled.

  Her father was at his desk, and she held the smile until Ewan closed the door. It was traditional in look, but modern in its soundproofing. Once private she was less composed.