Table Of ContentDO 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 real 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.
