The December Protocol

by Devin Hanson

  “And who’re you?” one of the new arrivals demanded. “You’re not one of us.”

  “Of course I’m not,” Ruu snapped. “You shit stains sent this man to us trying to make your problems disappear. He killed my boss and left me for dead.”

  Vito looked at Ruu again and his shotgun swung around to focus on her. “You’re a marshal too?”

  “Of course I’m a– for fuck’s sake. Is there someone here who isn’t a God-damned retard? Who’s in charge?”

  “Anton?” Vito frowned. “He’s busy. But we can take Marshal Yang off your hands.”

  “So you can claim the reward? Do I look like an idiot?” Ruu blazed at him. “No, fuck that. I caught him, I get the prize money. And a job while I’m at it.”

  “A job?” Vito took half a step back, his resolve withering under Ruu’s anger. “I can’t… I mean, that’s up to Esteres. Anton can set up a meeting, but–”

  “Why am I wasting my time with you then?” Ruu pushed Min in front of her and headed for the door. Vito tried to protest, but wasn’t fast enough to get in front of her.

  One of the other mercenaries was faster on his feet though, and planted himself in front of the door. “I don’t think so, puta. You ain’t going nowhere. Not until we find out who you are.” He stepped up to Min and raised his hands getting ready to pat him down.

  “Oh well,” Ruu said, and shot him in the head.

  The monomol round took the mercenary between the eyes, punching a tiny hole before it expanded and blew out the back half of his head in a fountain of gore. Vito shrilled a screech and hauled the shotgun around, but he was awkward with one arm in a cast, and didn’t get the gun anywhere near Ruu before she shot him twice in the chest. Vito collapsed and the shotgun went off, blowing a hole in the reception desk and filling the air with clouds of shredded paper.

  Min twisted his wrists, and for a long moment the zip tie held before it finally parted with a pop. The last mercenary was reaching for his gun when Min caught his wrist and twisted it around. Min grabbed the pistol from the mercenary’s holster and shot him twice before letting him fall writhing to the ground. He planted a boot against the mercenary’s chest to hold him still and shot him one more time in the head.

  Ruu snatched up Vito’s shotgun and darted for the door with Min hard on her heels. The door said it led to storage, but Min expected it to be a sham. To his surprise, the room beyond was an enormous warehouse. Shelves marched in orderly rows, stacked with crates and loose parts. There was a wide center aisle, and enough space between the rows for a forklift.

  Min caught Ruu’s arm and pulled her out of the center aisle moments before a door on the far end banged open and a group of mercenaries poured through. In the back, Min recognized Anton, waving his arms and exhorting the mercenaries into action.

  If only he had his rifle. Min watched the mercenaries rush toward them across the warehouse. With a rifle, it would have been easy to pick them off one at a time before they could close the distance. Instead, he was stuck with the pistol he had lifted off the mercenary and his own monomol pistol. He had solid rounds in the mercenary’s pistol, but, he checked, only six rounds left in the magazine.

  Min slid the magazine back into the pistol with a sinking feeling. There were eight mercenaries, with Anton in the back. They had lost the element of surprise, too. The mercenaries were all running, with weapons drawn and ready to use. If there was any blessing to be had, not all of the mercenaries were carrying guns. One of them had a compact submachine gun, three had handguns of various descriptions and the rest sported stunrods and one was carrying a heavy fire axe.

  In the back, Anton was swinging a huge, chrome-plated hand cannon, a Compensator, as Min liked to call them. There just wasn’t any practical purpose for carrying such a large pistol.

  “You take out the one with the Uzi first,” Min whispered to Ruu, handing over the mercenary’s slug pistol.

  “The what?”

  “The submachine gun. In the back, dark hair.” It wasn’t often that Min felt old, but every once in a while he dropped an Earth term that left the others around him baffled. It made him abruptly homesick for blue skies overhead and wind-blown clouds scudding above the trees.

  “Right. Wait, is that your plan?”

  Min grinned at her. “My turn.”

  “I hate your plans,” Ruu grumbled, but she rested the pistol on the shelf in front of her and drew a careful bead on the approaching knot of gunmen.

  Trusting Ruu to cover him, Min slid down to the end of the shelf and crouched behind a crate. The running footsteps were coming closer and he tightened his grip on his pistol. Sometimes he hated this whole fucking planet.

  Mentally, he paced out the effective range of the monomol rounds and estimated the position of the approaching mercenaries. Too close and they could engage him in overwhelming numbers. Ruu wouldn’t be able to assist without risking hitting him on accident. Too far and his monomol rounds wouldn’t have the penetrating power to be lethal and the gunmen among the mercenaries would just shoot him full of holes. His window would only be seconds wide.

  He wanted to peek but restrained the urge. If they saw his head poking out from behind the box, however unlikely, it would ruin everything. The footsteps came closer and Min tried to remember if the mercenaries had been stringing out as they ran, or if they had stayed bunched close together. Ultimately, it didn’t matter.

  Min almost jumped out too early, pulled himself back, and then almost jumped out too late. The mercenary leading the pack was only ten feet away and startled with a shout when Min leapt out. The rest of the mercenaries were in a straggly group with the furthest a good twenty or thirty feet outside of monomol range.

  At ten feet, the monomol rounds were barely distinguishable from bullets. Min’s first two rounds punched clear through the leading mercenary and he toppled in a tumbling tangle of limbs. It took time for a man running at full tilt to come to a stop and aim a weapon with any sort of reliable accuracy, and Min took full advantage of the opportunity.

  Min emptied his pistol into the approaching mercenaries as fast as the gun could cycle. He was going for damage, not necessarily killing shots. He didn’t have time to line up more considered placement, just concentrated on pulling his trigger whenever a mercenary lined up with his front sights.

  Min’s sudden appearance sent a ripple of shock through the mercenaries. They were running toward gunfire, so they were at least mentally prepared to deal with an intruder, just not quite yet; and not one that appeared out of nowhere firing wildly into their midst.

  Two more mercenaries died before Min’s pistol ran dry, then the first of the mercenaries reached Min, swinging wildly with the fire axe. Min threw his empty gun in the man’s face and dived into a roll. He came to his feet in time to frantically duck another hurried swing. In the back of the pack, the mercenary with the submachine gun was running sideways, trying to find a gap in the press he could shoot through. Min danced to the side, keeping the axe man between himself and that gun. What was Ruu waiting for?

  The axe man pressed Min again and he had to dance back out of range and into the sights of the submachine gun. With a shout, the mercenary in the back raised his gun and Min knew he was dead. Then, with a crisp report, the mercenary’s head was slapped sideways in a spray of gore.

  The two remaining gunmen spread out, peering into the shadows trying to locate where Ruu was hiding. The axe man and another mercenary swinging a buzzing stunrod redoubled their efforts on Min. The mercenary with the stunrod was bleeding from a monomol leg wound. His heavy canvas pants had stopped most of the round, but enough had gone through to pulverize a coin-sized chunk of flesh and muscle. Blood ran down his leg and squelched in his shoe. He was limping heavily, but had worked himself up into a rage, ignoring the pain and swinging wildly at Min.

  Min was forced back. Between the heavy swings of the fire axe and the wild, uncoordinated buzzing of the stunrod, he couldn’t find an opening to press an attack of his
own. He kept moving to the side, forcing the wounded mercenary to put weight on his injured leg and keeping the axe at a distance.

  Ruu fired again and one of the gunmen folded over, clutching his stomach and screaming. The other gunman started shooting into the shelves. Ricochets hummed and fabricated polymer parts shattered. Min saw Ruu crouched behind a crate, then a bullet ripped through and knocked her sprawling. Min shouted and the distraction nearly cost him his life.

  A kick from the axe man hit Min in the hip and pushed him off balance. Before he could recover, the stunrod slammed into his arm and a light detonated behind Min’s eyes. He stumbled and tried to put out his hand to catch himself, but his arm was nothing but a bundle of fizzing, agonized nerves. Min crashed heavily to the ground. He rolled, more on reflex than conscious thought, and the axe smashed into the ground where his head had been, digging into the concrete with a spray of sparks.

  Min rolled again and kicked out blindly. His foot connected with something and a man grunted in pain. Min pushed all thought of Ruu from his head. Another lapse and he was a dead man. From his back, Min saw the axe man wind up for another skull-splitting strike. Min faked a roll to the left then threw himself to the right.

  Again the axe whistled down and smashed into the concrete. Min was ready for it this time and grabbed at the axe with his good hand. The reverse of the fire axe was an ugly six-inch spike, and Min closed his fist around it as the mercenary pulled it from the concrete. The mercenary hauled on the axe, trying to break Min’s grip, and Min let himself get pulled to his feet. Then, seeing how pulling wasn’t working, the mercenary rammed the axe forward into Min.

  It was like a gift. Min rode the push of the axe and turned the weight of the mercenary against him. It took barely any effort and Min flung the mercenary bodily through the air, the axe now in his hands. With a last, grunting effort, Min leapt at the mercenary and brought the axe down spike-first into the man’s chest. Min pulled at the axe to free it, but the head had smashed through the man’s rib cage and was bound up among the shattered ribs.

  Intense pain exploded in Min’s back and he screamed as every nerve in his body burned with fire. He collapsed next to the dead axe man, his muscles jerking out of control as the stun current chewed through his system. The wounded mercenary loomed over him and stabbed down with the stunrod again. Pain exploded in Min’s stomach and his abdominals contracted involuntarily, folding Min in half with a jerk. He curled around his shrieking muscles, unable to do anything as the mercenary worked the axe free of his dead companion.

  From the corner of his eye, Min saw the axe sweep up for the killing blow. Then the throaty boom of a shotgun punched the mercenary from his feet.

  Min’s nerves shrieked at him and blackness threatened to close down around him. Ruu staggered out from behind the shelves, the shotgun hanging loosely in one hand. The last thing Min was aware of was the far doors swinging shut behind Anton as he fled.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  The last recording of a Matriarch available on Earth is a shot in a colony transport in lunar orbit, a few hours before launch and the long fall toward Sol’s second planet. The Matriarch is a young woman in appearance, no more than sixteen, yet she carries herself with the gravity and intensity of a powerful businesswoman in her prime. An old man is pleading with her, his hair white with age. Liver spots are scattered over his loose skin and his hands tremble.

  “I’ve told you a hundred times,” the Matriarch is saying. Her voice is rich with authority, though not without a measure of compassion. “I’m sorry, father, but there is nothing the Helix Rebuild can do for you. You cannot come to Venus with us.”

  The man seems to deflate. He stares at his daughter with a terrible longing and a tear tracks down his wrinkled face. Without another word, he turns away. The Matriarch watches him go, her face stony, then something cracks in her and she races over to him. The gravitas falls away and for a moment she is a girl of sixteen again. The old man at the end of his life and the Matriarch just beginning hers embrace before the airlock one last time, father and daughter for a final stolen moment.

  Angeline felt the bonds on her wrists fall away. She turned her head and looked through the tangled curtain of her hair at Marcus. He nodded at her and gestured toward the crate.

  “You’ll be safe in there,” he said.

  Safe? Angeline bared her teeth in a rictus of hate. This… this man, this outsider who was so fresh from Earth he still had a suntan, dared to tell her what was safe?

  Marcus saw the change come over her and he took half a step back, his eyes widening. Angeline spun and jumped at him, her fingers hooked into claws searching for his eyes. She was silent, only heavy breathing and grunts of effort coming from her. The rest of the noise in the room was coming from Marcus.

  Angeline ignored his shrieks and pleas. Her finger nails were bloody and red lines were cut across Marcus’ face. One of his eyes was bloodshot and squinted nearly closed and she felt a surge of raw, barbed joy at seeing damage done.

  “What is wrong with you?” Marcus cried out. “We had an agreement!”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Angeline hissed. “Are you stupid? They’re going to kill me!”

  Marcus cupped his scratched eye with one hand. He shook his head, unable to dispute it. “If I let you escape, I’ll die too.”

  “So I’m supposed to just die for you?” Angeline laughed.

  “Yes.” Marcus lunged at her, his free hand spread wide to grab her.

  Angeline had spent a lot of time in her cage, thinking about ways to overcome a man trying to grab her. All the dozens of glib self-defense suggestions she had discarded one after the other as being impractical or insufficient. In their place she had decided on a few potential moves which she favored for their simplicity and reliability.

  Marcus ran toward her and Angeline took half a step forward and kicked as hard as she could, with all the power of her newly strengthened legs, directly in Marcus’ groin. He coughed out a gargling scream and fell to the ground, both hands clamped around his groin. Angeline felt no sympathy for him, only the feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment for a kick well-placed.

  She watched him sobbing on the ground and he seemed so little now, broken and doomed. Would they really kill him if she escaped? Angeline found she didn’t care. Let them. She hoped they would.

  Without another glance back at Marcus, she left the room of cages. Marcus was no longer a threat to her. She closed the door and found there was a lock on the outside. With a grim smile, she spun the lock over.

  Now to make good her escape. She could take the same path she had taken last time, return to the examination room and climb up into the air ducts again. She was fairly certain she could find her way to the maintenance room once more. She thought of the workers being gunned down with the policemen and bile rose in her throat. How many people had died today? How many people were dead now because she had decided to escape?

  And what of the gunfire she had heard earlier? Was Marshal Yang looking for her still? She was torn. The safe way might be through the ducts again, but that hadn’t worked out for her last time.

  A door down the hall banged open and a wujin backed out, guiding an autodolly piled high with crates strapped together. The man turned and Angeline recognized him as Dr. Chung. For a moment, Angeline locked stares with the doctor. She was beyond fear, now. She almost wished he would attack her.

  To Angeline’s surprise, Dr. Chung backed away from her. There was fear in his eyes.

  Angeline took a step toward him and he abandoned the dolly and fled, tearing off down the corridor. She pursued him and caught a glimpse of her reflection as she passed the dolly. Her shirt was soaked in blood from the slain officer. Her hair was tangled and matted, her face streaked and caked with white powder. She looked like an avenging spirit, a creature raised from the dead to hunt the living.

  The doctor knew the way out. Angeline latched onto that thought and ran down the hallway
after him. The pain in her toe was forgotten. Ahead of her, Dr. Chung turned left where Adora and Angeline had taken a right. Angeline heard a door open, then the tumbling crash of someone falling to the ground.

  Angeline turned the corner. Dr. Chung was on the ground, staring back at her, his eyes wide with terror. Anton was picking himself up, but his gaze was turned toward the door he had just come from. He held a massive pistol one-handed, covering the door like he expected someone to charge through at any moment.

  Dr. Chung grabbed Anton’s leg. “She’s here!” he shrieked, “She’s right here!”

  Anton kicked the doctor loose. “Get off! They’re not here yet, I…” He followed Dr. Chung’s gaze back and saw Angeline. “You! What’d you do to Marcus?” Anton pivoted and pointed his gun at Angeline, then glanced back at the door and swung the gun back around.

  “She killed him!” Dr. Chung cried, scrambling backwards away from Angeline. “She’s killed us all!”

  Angeline didn’t know what to do. Freedom was through that door, but Anton blocked the way with that enormous pistol of his. She couldn’t back down now. If she ran, Anton would track her down and she would die. No. She refused to die trapped in a cage like an animal. If she had to die, she’d do it standing on her own two feet, on her terms. Adora had taught her that much, at least.

  She gritted her teeth and walked forward. If the only way out was through Anton, then so be it.

  Min’s face stung and he shook his head and held up an arm, blocking Ruu’s next slap. His head ached and his nerves burned beneath his skin. From the tips of his fingers to the roots of his hair, everything hurt.

  “Leave it, I’m up!”

  Ruu sat back on her haunches and stuck out a hand to help pull him to his feet. Grudgingly, Min accepted it and stood, swaying slightly. He felt worn out. The buzz of vibrant good health from the Womack treatment was gone, leaving only exhaustion and pain in its place.