Do Unto Others-ARC

  They shook hands and congratulated all around, and she even gave Alex a brief hug, then Elke. Elke looked a little less disturbed than she usually did with human contact.

  Caron seemed delighted when cookname rolled in a tray of pastries and champagne. She'd even brought sparkling non-alcoholic cider for Alex and Elke. They sipped, toasted and he had a bite of baklava and a scone, both looking like something from a how-to show. Even more impressive, as she'd done it under Shaman's personal supervision, with ingredients he brought personally. That done, they headed downstairs, into the vehicles, and "home" to Wales.

  As soon as they were in the car, Caron said, "As soon as I get home, I'm drinking something stronger than champagne. Then I'm going to do nothing the rest of the day. Tomorrow I'm going to kill my brain with QuestGeas, and dress like a bum. After that we'll discuss my future career."

  "Very good," Alex agreed cordially. "You've earned the rest."

  "It's odd. We don't take holidays, really. We go places and see things, but we work whilst doing so. I don't know how to do nothing for long, and I always feel guilty when I do. But I can justify one day, however, as rest and recuperation."

  "Absolutely."

  True to her word, as soon as they arrived, Caron went running and whooping through the entire mansion. Elke and Jason sprinted after her, and the echoes bounced around the vaulted ceiling of the central foyer.

  Damn, poor kid, Alex thought again. He had some idea what it was like for lottery winners, who didn't even have the advantage of growing up rich, to be plunged into wealth. Though Caron's wealth was that of several billionaires each winning the Globall Max.

  He gave everyone a couple of hours to settle down. The remaining staff and all the Ripple Creek personnel wished her well and tried to make up for the graduation ceremony she wasn't going to get. She probably knew that, too, but why ruin the illusion?

  Caron was quite astute, and Alex enjoyed that. He suspected she wasn't going to enjoy the events he was about to initiate.

  He walked into the parlor, where Caron was giggling behind VR goggles, involved in some network party or other while sipping expensive-looking liquor. He tapped for attention.

  "Hold on, I have some RW stuff," she said into her mic. She transparented the goggles and said, "Yes?"

  "Leave your connection open and muted. We're leaving. Right now. Elke took care of shipping your wardrobe and personal effects. Anything personal you want to take with you you need to grab in the next three minutes. We have the vehicles waiting. You'll be back on net when you get to Govannon. Your father's orders."

  Her expression covered all negatives. She was angry, disbelieving, put upon, shocked, saddened and lost all at once. That just left bargaining and acceptance.

  Her eyes exploded in tears.

  "Oh, goddammit," she said as she tore off the headset. "It would be nice to say goodbye."

  "No time, and not safe. You can come back in a while, though."

  "Don't lie to me," she snapped. "Unless I find somewhere to unload a few triple zeroes of cash, I'll never be back on Earth. What do I need?"

  "Anything personal, Miss. Toys, pictures, anything with sentimental value. Elke got quite a bit. It'll be following along."

  "Why bother?" she said. "Besides, I can always order it sent. What's money? Let's get me the hell out of here before the shock wears off and I get really pissed." She strode straight for the door.

  Poor kid, he thought.

  Horace was impressed with the speed of departure, and was glad Caron was reacting as she did. Clearly, she was upset, in stress-induced shock, but remarkably resilient and intelligent.

  He knew his part, but not all the details. He could tell, though, that a lot of money had been spent on this departure. That made sense. It was a potential point failure.

  Five vehicles left in five directions. Theirs traveled only a few kilometers before stopping seemingly at random on the roadside, as a Trirotor rumbled in and landed right in front of them. They corralled Miss Prescot into it, then lifted at once. Five minutes later, they landed outside Ebbw Vale and took a waiting commuter floater, chartered and flown by a company pilot. It had four other similar-looking young women and a dozen men. He recognized some of them from the company.

  The pilot took off fast, probably in violation of local flight regs, and climbed sharply.

  Caron seemed to be following every detail herself. It wasn't professional interest on her part. She was probably trying to remember every moment of her last day on Earth. She didn't utter a word.

  They landed in Prešov, Slovakia on a normal small pad at the aiport, and eight nondescript Renault Carryalls came from several directions. They took one as the decoys took others. Jason took one of those, as did Elke. The team was slightly split, but the additional confusion effect should help. Horace wondered why there hadn't been decoy planes as well, but maybe there were, or maybe Alex had decided that many pilots being called to do odd things would draw attention. Drivers were easy to get.

  Bart drove, of course. Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a small garage. They bailed out fast, and there was Agent Cady with a completely different Peugeot, and two more decoys. Bart piled in, Cady slid over, and off they went out the back.

  Caron finally spoke up.

  "Isn't a ballet this complicated a risk?"

  Alex said, "It would be, if more than I knew the plan, or who was where, or which vehicle we'd take at each step. I chose some at random. The others are just going to pick a direction and drive. Nor did they know why, nor have most of them even glimpsed you. This company is handling twenty or so high profile young women at the moment, and several older male executives in suits, like me or Shaman or Jason. Any one person might be a leak, but there are enough changes to account for that. Like right now. Bart, you can choose the D One or the Three Seven One Expressway."

  "Thank you." He glanced at the offered paper map and nodded.

  They drove from there, and changed vehicles twice more. It was a long, overland trip with few stops. They kept up a chatter of reports on potential threats, items of interest and general banter just to keep awake.

  "Disabled vehicle ahead on right. Vacant, tagged," Aramis reported from up front.

  "Noted."

  Horace said, "We have a van with family passing on left."

  "Got it. That's quite a pretty overlook with the mist sinking." Alex indicated to the left.

  "It is. Behind the van is a land train, four segment, hazmat."

  Bart said, "Acknowledged, accelerating." They didn't want to draw attention of local traffic control, but next to a marked hazmat vehicle was no place for them on this trip.

  With Caron curled up napping in a corner of the vehicle, Horace asked, "Why ground?"

  Alex said, "We can always find an escape route on the ground. Air is a bit more restrictive. It also means they can't even guess the destination directly, though the eventual one is probably obvious. However, watching millions of cars is harder than a few hundred planes. That, and low tech is less predictable. Especially since the pheromones we used could be used against us now. I'm betting whoever might be following us doesn't bother trying a pheromone search, consider the disparity of the two tech levels. Bart, how are you doing?"

  "Tired, but continuing," Bart replied. He'd been driving for close to five hours, over 1000 kilometers. They were well through the Ukraine Constituency of Europe.

  Horace said, "I'm assuming Baikonur."

  "Assume all you like. I won't say yet."

  "Of course."

  Aramis had personal duty for the stop.

  "Handicapped room," he said.

  "Okay," she agreed sullenly. She didn't seem bothered or even to care.

  Horace and Alex flanked them, and stood outside. He went in first, made a quick scan for any threats, cursory but professionally. Then he politely faced the door so she could piss in peace.

  It wasn't just manners. As hot as she was, watching bodily functions was not something he fo
und interesting.

  "I need a bloody shower," she muttered.

  "We should be at a hotel soon, miss. I think we all need to clean up."

  "Mmph."

  She washed her hands and he opened the door, to see Jason and Elke had apparently caught up and joined the party. Both were outside the building keeping an eye on things. That was going to make the vehicle a bit tighter.

  Bart was still driving. He seemed to prefer it and never complained about the time spent in the seat. Between Bart and Jason, Aramis accepted he was going to be a permanent passenger. He wasn't a comfortable passenger, but that's how it was.

  Eight hours later they did pull into Baikonur, Kazakhstan. Did Caron actually know anyone in one of her ancestral countries? Did she care?

  It was a rich town in one of the world's leading resource producers and space transit hosts. In centuries past it had been looted and pillaged by countless savages and barbarians. Now it was a gleaming jewel of ultra high tech and money. Aramis kept a professional eye out for threats, while part of him appreciated the almost endless parade of lightly dressed prime female flesh. Wow. This would be a good place to vacation. They were part Asian, part European, part Persian and all scorching.

  Alex said, "Head for the Mandarin Oriental."

  Damn. Nice accommodations, too, if that was their actual destination. His only real regret in this job was not enough time to enjoy the sights and locations. He'd stayed in some of the finest hotels and resorts in the universe, and seen almost none of them.

  Bart nodded fractionally and turned onto a thoroughfare.

  Elke didn't feel nervous, but kept a very cold eye out. They were close to a choke point as far as schedule went. She watched rear and right, and saw the hotel a block south.

  "I thought we had reservations at the Mandarin?" Caron commented.

  Alex said, "We do. Also at the Geneva, and two others. Someone else booked us rooms at the Hilton, Hyatt and Watermark. Jason, please flip a coin and pick one."

  "Hilton it is."

  "Good. Caron, how fast can you look like a splash rock musician?"

  She said, "Um," as Elke slapped a makeup kit down in front of her, and a small case of wadded clothes.

  Elke watched, or rather, studied. She could do basic color coordinated makeup for a suit or evening dress. Beyond that, she needed a pro or her attempts looked silly. She wasn't a social creature.

  Caron seemed to have some talent in that direction. In a few seconds, she pulled her hair up into a good approximation of a mane and clipped it in place. She grabbed scissors and cut several geometric chevrons into a skirt, then sliced her slacks off to avoid having to remove her boots. She pulled the skirt on. With a marker she drew a quick pseudo-Mongolian text down her left leg.

  After that, she applied shocking green makeup from her eyes to her temples, painted a single tear near her nose, and stroked on magenta lipstick. A quick pull popped two snaps of her blouse to show cleavage and black lace.

  "How's this?"

  "Very good," Elke said appreciatively. "I barely recognize you. Do me, please." She handed over her carry bag.

  In short order, her face was painted, her hair plastered down and her jeans shredded into ladders of fabric, showing green elastic panties, under a sport coat with no bra. It was more exposure than Elke was comfortable with, from a tactical point of view, though nudity wasn't an issue for her, except as it distracted or discomfited males, which was useful or annoying depending on circumstances. However, even without seeing the makeup, she knew she looked nothing like herself.

  Aramis had done well. He looked very much like a rock star, in tight clothes with the knees and sides ripped out, with exposed calves and a cape over his shoulders.

  Jason was still fit enough to pull it off, mostly, even in his 40s, though that slight padding over his abs needed some work. Still, he definitely looked like a percussionist or synthesist with that big padded case that could be instruments but was all tactical gear.

  The others stayed as they were, to break up the image and to look like crew. Besides, Alex and Shaman were a bit too old to pull it off as pop musicians.

  Alex asked, "Everyone ready?" He waited a moment for an assent, then said, "Then here we go."

  Bart flung the limo neatly and discreetly into an alley, crawled a few meters in, and shut the engine down. Caron followed Elke as everyone bailed out.

  Jason had already flagged down a regular taxi, they piled in fast, and off they went. He gave directions to a local, private hotel. They arrived very quickly, lugged their cases in the front, right through to the back, and flagged another cab. This one, Jason directed to the Hilton.

  Aramis went in first, and it looked as if he was playing up the role, looking half-drugged and road-dazed.

  He turned back to the door, and they all piled out, lugging their cases. Elke had arranged for Caron to have the heaviest and most awkward, which caused Alex to grin. He seemed to concur it was about time she got some of what she'd been dishing out.

  She had learned movement drill, though. When the elevator stopped, she let Alex and Shaman go first, fell in with Elke and Bart at the sides, with Aramis and Jason in the front.

  Aramis stepped ahead, keyed the lock and walked in. As he cleared the doorway, he dropped his cases, a carbine cleared his outfit and he darted forward and left. Shaman took right, Elke brushed past straight ahead to the windows. She polarized them and closed the drapes.

  At "Clear!" Alex flipped on the lights.

  "Ah. This isn't too bad for a cheaper hotel," Caron said and started looking around.

  A Hilton. "Cheaper." "Not too bad." She apparently wasn't even familiar with the inside of a Hilton, and this was one of the deluxe suites.

  Elke reflected that Caron might get a lesson in reality on this trip, and it was something that should have happened a long time ago. Her father was far too coddling.

  Jason and Bart went straight to work, snapping open cases and pulling out frames and panels. In a few minutes, solid ballistic shield covered the hallway wall of the middle room, and the windows.

  Caron sat back, and watched Elke. Elke was aware of it, but said nothing. She had a task.

  Caron asked, "Is that explosive?"

  "Of a specialized type, yes," Elke said with a nod, as her fingers worked dexterously. "You're familiar with staging charges, a primer charge, a low explosive, then high, then hyper?"

  "In theory, yes," Caron said. "For mining."

  "This small charge is prebuilt as a shaped charge, with specific characteristics. The primer starts the propulsion and brissance wave, the low explosive envelopes from the outside with just enough power to contain the high, which forms its own shaped charge of plasmoidized hyper explosive, with the detonation wave already traveling through it. So the damage is minimal in the enclosed space, and maximized in a cone in front of the charge."

  She set it down on a small tripod in front of the door, or where the door was beyond the ballistic curtain.

  Jason indicated the thick fabric. "That stuff is soft enough to soak up the propulsion of a rocket, and probably soft enough to avoid fuzing the warhead. If there is a detonation, the fabric will slow it and damp it considerably. By the way, Elke, what's 'minimal' damage?"

  "It will not be lethal outside of a meter. It won't cause more than minor injuries at three meters."

  "So that whole area will be toast."

  "That's the plan."

  "And this you define as 'low scale.'"

  "I'd rather plant projection charges in the hall and douse incoming hostiles with gelled flame agents, but this culture has a positively sick fetish against giving criminals what they need." She placed a second charge, carefully adjusted it a few millimeters, then put her gear away.

  "Well, if it were legal for people to kill everyone who deserved it, we'd quickly be out of work."

  "I'm sure I could find plenty," she said. Did he really think they'd run out of people to kill? It must be a joke.

 
Alex was glad to see Elke back in her element. Everyone else was in fine fettle.

  Caron asked, "What are we doing about food?"

  Shaman said, "We have some field rations and some sandwiches. Nothing must come in, and we must not go out."

  "Well, I can manage for one night," Caron replied with a cheery smile. It had a faint, unintentional, but definite tinge of condescension. It just drove home how alien this young woman was.

  "Good," he said, and handed her a standard field ration in its box.

  Her expression was surprised and curious. After she found the flap, opened it and saw the self-heating envelopes she was a little less interested. Once she got the Spaghetti with Meat and Sauce opened, she looked rather hesitant. She pulled out a neat spoonful and ate it.

  "God, that's bland and tasteless."

  "There's red pepper sauce in the accessory packet," Jason said with a point of his finger. He was halfway around his Stewed Beef with Potatoes already.

  Caron finished the entire ration, though Alex gathered a lot of it was from manners. She seemed disappointed rather than repulsed.

  Alex said, "Anyone watching vid must use a damper cone. We need to be able to hear everything. Jason has monitors set."

  Jason read for a while, but seemed agitated. Aramis pulled up a vid on his personal system, with headphones set to amplify outside noise over the audio. Bart took duty position, upright and strolling and checking. Alex watched everyone, or course. Elke had a reader, her comm and seemed to be running calculations. Caron sat morosely for a while, then shrugged and flicked on vid. Shaman inventoried something.

  After a half hour, Jason couldn't stand it anymore. He shifted and rose, checked with Bart, then wandered into the bathroom, which was his real destination.

  It was as luxurious as the suite, with real cut stone tile, manual and automatic controls, broad lavatory with several choices of soap, the Jacuzzi and the multi-head shower. Since he was sharing with six others, a quick shower would have to do. He stripped fast, flipped on the water and stepped in.