There were occasional clatters of detritus, tiny globs of congealed rock raining out of the atmosphere. They sounded like light hail.
"That gets them started," Eggett said. "From there, surveyors will determine some small secondaries—low kiloton range, that will vaporize more. After that, lots of conventional explosive to cut channels and reliefs and ramps and such, then digging machines. You've seen them?"
Jason said, "Yeah, they look like something from a nightmare."
"That's the ones. This isn't much volume as a percentage, but it gets the hole started faster, and means less hauling of initial overburden, and the initial penetration is into material already crushed for transport. Given time, we should be able to develop a multiple charge shot to clear a greater volume."
As they approached the vehicle terminal, Jason said, "Well, I hate to repay your hospitality by asking you to let us clear Miss Prescot first . . . "
"I understand. I'll wait."
"Thanks. I really wish we didn't have to be so paranoid."
"Visibility does that."
"And that was a hell of a show."
"I enjoy them myself. I wish I got to do more of them."
Inside, the rest escorted Caron out and away. Jason sat with Eggett.
Once they were alone, he said, "I need to ask a favor about dome strength."
"Oh?"
"I'm trying to prove it really is proof against small arms."
Eggett winced, clearly understanding, and said, "I hate to get involved in office politics. You're not actually employees, and anything outside of mining operations isn't my place to say. You really want the dome engineers."
"I don't know them. I don't blame you for being circumspect, of course."
"Thanks. I also feel a debt to the family, and I really want Miss Prescot to be safe. So I'll get you a file on strength of materials and such. Will that help?"
"Immensely. Thank you, sir."
"Why thank me? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Got it."
Civilian spectators were not allowed for the blast, but lots had gathered on observation platforms wherever they could. For that reason, and to keep the vehicles on their standard routes, Alex elected to bring Caron up from the mine rather than stop at a lock.
Jason would catch up after his business. In the meantime, the five of them should be plenty.
There was a broad tunnel with the everpresent pressure seals leading from the upper areas of the mine head, where the senior staff resided and worked, to the dome itself. The dome had in fact been built off the mine, with the mall first as an executive perk, and the rest following.
They had their electric limo, and sped into the receiving area. They could continue with it, but pedestrian traffic and tight turns would make it not only noticeable, but slow. They stepped out and proceeded in loose square.
They took an elevator with Elke's pass key, that let them bypass controls and waits.
Two floors up put them on the ground level of the dome, and three short blocks—300 meters—from Caron's Haute Tour building. There was a broad entrance with an elaborate potted garden here. Bart moved ahead to check for any lurkers.
That was as it should be, and Alex drew back to cover the rear, but then . . .
Aramis walked off.
Alex didn't want to make a scene, but muttered, "Where the hell—?" Aramis was looking at some flowers behind a man on a bench reading a paper newspaper.
Then Alex watched in concern and confusion as Aramis looped a cord around the man's neck and yanked. The man's eyes bugged out, he scrabbled at his neck, but he stepped up and back over the bench rather than be strangled. In a moment, Aramis dragged him over and managed to cuff him with cable ties on the way.
Alex assumed Aramis had reason for the action, canted his head and asked, "What keyed you?"
Aramis looked disgusted. "Who the hell reads an Urdu paper from left to right when the language reads right to left?"
"Aha. Great catch." He turned to the culprit and asked, "So, why are you hiding?"
The man shrugged and shook his head.
"Right. We call Cady. She can grill him. I'll be very interested in the results of this. Aramis, Elke, please hold him here. We'll proceed."
He was nervous now he had only three effectives including himself, but the movement finished uneventfully and they were soon in her apartment.
Caron said, "That was disturbing, and embarrassing, and . . . I don't know what else."
"Yes," he said. "I hope Cady has intel soon."
"I will work here today. I'm a bit nervous, if that's okay."
"Please do."
"Thanks. I'm going to check the AARs on the blast. If only every day was this interesting, without the creepiness."
Bart was having a very interesting time. Yesterday, the nuclear blast. Today, skiing.
Miss Caron seemed to have very unstable moods. This was one of them.
For safety, she'd worn a full robe and veil in transit, like some of the very wealthy women from Qatar, Kuwait or the Ramadan colony. With different clothing and hats, he and Elke looked just like the typical meat thug and lady's escort such a person would have. The cable car ride up the mountain offered a creepy view. The long-paned tunnel drove home how far they were from the main dome. Even with the emergency oxygen aboard, Bart thought it unlikely anyone would survive a disaster here.
Once here, though, with a ski mask to hide her face, she changed into a chevroned skintight suit with the chevrons pointing in very suggestive ways. She was almost more naked than naked, and every male on the hill was pretending not to stare at her. A few looked rather uncomfortable.
The people who cared about classifying slopes couldn't decide if this was natural or artificial. The hill was natural—a volcanic plug southeast of the dome, sloping long toward it. Wind had eroded the far side more steeply. It was covered by an artificial roof in substantial volume, chilled and kept at 23% O2 in steady circulation, because the top of the slope was 15,000 meters up. The snow was effectively natural, forming crystals in the high atmosphere and falling, rather than being sprayed. However, it only fell because the atmosphere was manipulated. Of course, that was done on Earth, too to a lesser extent. The debate was over where it became artificial. Ski aficionados cared about that. They were some of the poorer guests here.
The main slope was perfect, of course, cut and blasted to shape. That was a positive. The negatives were that it was maintained regularly by staff who might be suborned, and once off the marked course was unknown and deadly. It was also twice as long as the longest record slope on Earth. From top of the slope to dogleg to base of the rift was 28,000 meters. It dropped over 14,000 meters in that run, more than 30 degrees, but some areas peaked near 70, others much more gently.
She didn't wait for Bart. Once cleared to the platform, she shuffled forward, grinned and jumped to the crushed, icy ramp and then onto the slope proper.
Bart took off after her, muttering a curse. He appreciated being able to run this course. He did not appreciate having to do so while looking for threats.
She was quite a good skier, and that spandex was amazing on her arse, he thought. The fluorescent green, orange and blue made her easy to follow, and those chevrons were clearly intended to point up her physique.
It was worse that she used the long, straight run to build up speed. A good skier could easily hit 100km/h. He knew she, and he, were already faster than that, with a dead straight track ahead. It was a professionally groomed, artificial slope, so the worst that might happen is she'd break a leg or dislocate one. Or Bart might.
He was amazed when he caught motion from the corner of his eye. Two other skiers actually passed him.
He analyzed in a hurry while skiing fast. If they were faster than he, they were good. They seemed interested in Caron. Was it for her amazing body, or some ill means?
Bart couldn't tell if they were flirting or a threat. He'd have to be discreet and abschreckend . . . diss
uasive?, if he could get close enough. He'd better do it quickly, too. There was no excuse for him not being closer in this profession.
He tucked in his arms and let gravity run his speed up.
It was exhilarating, and a bit scary. It was a perfectly manicured section, all straight, and he was trying for maximum speed. He was getting it, too. He didn't know how fast, but he was catching up.
The two skiers presented as male, young and fit. They closed in on Caron and carefully flanked her, then moved in closer, with a slight lead and brief, friendly waves. This was almost certainly nothing, but Bart must treat it as a threat. He drew in tight, as he'd seen jumpers do, and eased toward the man on the left. The snow was amazingly smooth, with few textural changes.
With a flip of his wrist he pulled his left pole from under his armpit in a fencing moulinet, and tossed it tip first between the man's feet. He watched it start to swing and pushed right as the man went down in a tumbling arse-over-heels cloud of powder.
Caron looked that way, and missed seeing him slip behind her. The other man saw him approaching and waved in panic, then tried to egress the area. Bart jabbed at him with the tip of his other pole, the man grabbed it and pulled, and Bart let him take it, to fall sideways into the snow and spin. Bart shoved back left to avoid the tangle of limbs and skis.
"Slow down!" he shouted at her.
Even under her goggles, he could see her expression. It was a mix of puzzled, shocked, angry and serious. She nodded and started schussing in long bends.
Bart wasn't good enough to be able to look behind while skiing, especially with one pole, but he did have a small mirror. He waved it around intermittently while keeping himself from tumbling, and managed to determine the two were far behind but upright. They kept their distance, so he was satisfied for now. He buzzed for Mbuto to meet him at the bottom in case he needed help.
Many minutes later, they leveled out and stopped on the broad plain at the mountain's base.
Caron pulled up her goggles and yanked down her mask and snapped, "What the hell was that all about?" as she poled toward the shed.
"Miss, they were too close to be safe," he said. "They are unharmed. At that speed I could not warn them away. They were ahead of me."
"Yes, well here they come now." She turned and waited for them.
They were wary of Bart, and stopped a few meters away. Bart received a buzz and saw Mbuto trudging out from the shed. Good.
Caron pulled of her mask and spoke to them. "I'm sorry. My bodyguards don't allow anyone close unless we are introduced first. I'm Caron."
"Oh," the first said, eyebrows raising. "You're . . . "
"Her," the other said. "We understand completely. We just wanted to ski and such."
"Very sorry," the first said.
Both men were college age, presumably from rich families, and just now found themselves so far out of their depth they were lost for words. There was no way to impress this woman, or at least not how they'd intended. "Very rich" did not apply here.
"No, please. You must join me for dinner."
"Uh, yes," the first said. "I'm Madya Vyas."
"Eric McDaniel," the other said. "Certainly."
"Tonight then, at seven?"
"Thank you, I . . . we will be there."
"I'm in Haute Tour. At the top, you'll need to buzz."
It took an awkward few moments for everyone to part, and Caron scowled at Bart again. Her moods were not quite erratic, but did vary. Not getting her way, or having to notice security tended to annoy her.
"Well, I guess I'm done for the morning," she said. "That was a great run. I'm going to do that again."
"It's an amazing slope," he agreed. "One pass is enough for the day."
So was one look at that skintight suit.
Caron cheered up slightly on the trip back. She had her veil and robe back on, and was near invisible. The private booth in the rear of the train let her relax behind one way glass.
"I'm being naughty, missing a half day of work like this," she said.
"Everyone needs down time," he said. "You do plenty of work."
"Yes, but there's so much to do. We have planetoid mining to develop, core mining, and gas mining. That's in addition to the current operations, and all this recreation my uncle is promoting. What am I doing this afternoon? I'm sorry, I've forgotten."
Bart made a quick assessment. No, she wasn't drugged, just giddy from the ski run.
"A tour of miners' facilities."
"Ah, that'll be interesting. We've done our best to provide facilities, but there are limits on what we can do. The contrast with this—" she indicated around her—"which is paid for by lazy rich people is awkward."
"There are three times as many miners."
"That, yes, and they're not paying for maid service or chefs. My father thinks we need to keep tabs on it, and find ways to improve quality of life. Explaining economies of scale doesn't avoid resentment."
The train was ultramodern and deceleration wasn't that noticeable. Bart kept an eye on the monitor, and tapped a signal on his phone as they arrived.
Aramis met them at the terminal head and drove back to the apartment. Caron ducked into her bedroom, came back in a clean coverall with protective gear, and looked eager to proceed.
Cady's team took charge of interrogating the suspect. She had a report in a few hours.
"It's not helpful," she said. "For one, while your actions were justified under the circumstances, they could be construed as assault and battery."
"Yes. How did that work out?"
"He knows that, and wasn't threatening, but wasn't bothered. He's Albanian, and presents as educated. He suggested he won't press charges if we don't pursue random allegations. He says he was curious and wanted to see what the paper was like."
"But didn't know which way to read it, and kept his face studiously on one page, when there are all kinds of net sources."
"Exactly. Aramis' report doesn't show him as curious. He was intent on that paper."
"Well, we found a phone on him, set up tracing and started calling numbers. Most of them are low supervisory staff. We're monitoring them now. Company authorized us. There was one anomaly."
"Yes?"
"Phone answered and then disconnected. We managed to track the general location in those seconds but then it went dead. It was down in the bottom end of mine management. Attempts to induce signal failed. I suspect it was disposed of on the surface or in the pit after being smashed."
"Understood. So it could be a threat, or mere publicity seekers."
"Correct."
"Well, I'll keep alert, but I refuse to respond to such a vague threat. We'll continue, just more alert."
"Roger. Cady out."
Joe Prescot saw things differently.
"Bryan, it's not safe to allow her down there!"
"Her guards are with her."
"They're only six. There are ten thousand miners down there who might decide to make her a target."
"It shouldn't be an issue. She's, not openly announcing herself, they weren't given notice, and they can't all attack at once, even if they had reason to."
Joe hesitated. Of course his brother didn't have the situational knowledge he did. Those miners were liable to get angry, though. Of course he hadn't mentioned that. He wanted a lid kept on things, and he didn't want any hints that he wasn't able to keep order.
"Bryan, I've been here for three years, ever since we expanded. I volunteered for that because you interact better with the government and public. Three years is a long time. I know how people act and react here, I know how things move. I really must strongly suggest you not let your daughter down there."
"Well, if you're that worried, I'll ping a message down for them to hurry up."
"Please do. They really resent the tourists. I realize that's partly my fault. We're juggling the additional income with the need to keep perceptions clean. They see billionaires playing. The guests see mining trash." That was
probably the wrong term to use. "It's a perception. I'm still trying to come up with some way to clear it up. It's not easy."
"I understand," Bryan said. "I'll tell them to cut it short. We can gradually increase presence and try to offer better incentives as we go."
Joe stifled a sigh, and kept it quiet. That was one potential disaster averted.
Assuming they got her out of there before anything broke loose.
He needed to get things organized better or it was going to blow up. It wasn't just the status issue and money. The hidden investors would want a return shortly. Joe had to juggle all three groups. Preferably without violence.
Horace found the tour fascinating. He'd seen diamond mines at a distance. This was far different. For one, they were about as deep as the deepest mines on Earth, and still only halfway down. The facility was effectively a space habitat, connected to the surface by crawlers instead of ships. It made sense. Why transport material when most of it was slag?
The current demonstration wasn't really directly involved with pulling ore from the hole. This was slightly more technical, a lot cleaner, and inside a pressurized area. Still, there was a lot of heavy equipment and a lot of dust. Even after vacuum washing, the crushed and sorted ore spit off particles as it jostled along the belts. Then, there was some oxidized slag in the air, palpable to the nose, eyes and tongue. The smelter wasn't that close, but it fed continuously and had an opening. Vapor and particles did escape. Outside atmosphere leaked in.
What came in from the mine was slurried and dried, though often had chunks of ice mixed in. A dizzying mix of conveyors and trucks hauled it from the pit a mountain-depth below, in soup-thick noxious atmosphere at triple surface pressure. Dumped here, it chuted in and began its process to ingots.
Their guide, Operations Officer Monique Gisaud said, "The choke points are here, where we can't process fast enough, but we're working on third smelter. Another is our own drawing mill, that is running nonstop to produce the stock we need on site. Of course, there's a limit on transport as well."