Redemption Protocol (Contact)

by Mike Freeman

  Now that she was confronted by the brutal reality of real time problem solving, particularly given its deadly consequences, attempting Fournier's metaphor idea seemed too ridiculous to contemplate. Fournier might not worry about failure, but Weaver was petrified by visions of her own blackened corpse. If she went for the all-or-nothing meta-solution and failed she would burn up and die. She’d seen what had happened to Kemensky. She retreated to what she knew and used brute force to tackle the streams individually.

  She immediately fell behind with the second stream. The light intensified. She fought to catch up. If she slipped too far behind she would never recover. The difficulty was intense and the pressure was relentless. She could never be fully caught up on every stream when solving them separately.

  She felt like she was spinning plates. Every plate needed exquisite care, continuously, in parallel. Each plate was oddly shaped and unevenly weighted, requiring total concentration. If she dropped even a single plate, she would die. If she did get all the plates spinning well enough then in a moment that scarcely existed she could snatch a chance to do her research. But if in doing so for one single instant she neglected her plates and failed to keep them spinning, her brain would immolate, her eyes would ignite and she would burn to death.

  The exit beckoned her. She could leave now and get to safety. It was madness to stay here. Trust yourself, she thought, fighting panic. She pressed on, redoubling her efforts. She didn’t try and solve the meta-solution that she could sense the shape of, instead she fought down in the trenches, taking each sequence stream in turn, operating at her absolute limit.

  It was working, barely. She was sprinting flat out on a mental treadmill, slowly slipping behind. She had to grab what she could and get out.

  First grab. The prisoner was a Talmas. A sentient engineered weapon specifically designed to eliminate species. The Talmas was a parasitoid, able to reproduce or move between prey at will. It was resilient and able to regenerate rapidly from serious trauma. It had been imprisoned as a sample for study.

  Back to the streams. She gave it everything. The glaring brightness receded momentarily.

  Second grab. The Aulusthrans had disabled the Talmas. The specimen couldn’t reproduce, though it was unchanged in all other deadly respects.

  The glare grew intense. She was close to the limit, slipping off the back of the treadmill. She focused on the sequence and poured herself into it, squeezing out every last drop of potential. Her reserves were gone. This was her last chance.

  Final grab. The Talmas had attacked Plash itself. Decimated the crew of this ship, who were far more advanced than humanity.

  She faded and buckled. She had nothing left. The brightness was agony, like clutching a live wire. She fought for the exit as the incandescent burn of the sequence overwhelmed her.

  She gasped into reality, falling backward and rolling across the floor. She lay on her back, panting hard with her body soaked in sweat.

  She was overcome by the euphoria of access and the terror of consequence. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done. She’d been close, so damn close, to joining Kemensky.

  She had to warn Abbott, right now.

  The alien prisoner was the Talmas.

  It was the species eliminator.

  157.

  Stone's face contorted in agony as the hook protruded from his face. He teetered on the brink of the hook platform, balanced precariously on the edge the void. The wind howled around him like demons welcoming him to hell. Tyburn leaned his face close to him and smiled.

  “Looks a long way down, doesn't it, Stone?”

  Stone wanted to weep at the excruciating pain in his face. He fought to maintain his balance. The shaft plummeted away beneath him. Tyburn wouldn't do this. There was no point in being this needlessly cruel. It must be an interrogation technique. Tyburn wanted information.

  > Tell me what you want to know.

  Tyburn pointed at the limpet on his suit.

  “If that red light goes off, you can communicate. Before that you'll blow. Do you understand?”

  > Please, Tyburn. Don’t.

  Tyburn waggled the hook. Stone's face spasmed in torment.

  “Do you understand?”

  > Yes.

  “Good boy, Stone. Well done.”

  > Please don’t let me fall.

  “Don’t be silly, Stone. You’re not going to fall.”

  > I’m not?

  Tyburn activated the crane and the cable snaked away. It was so fast.

  > Please! No!

  “I appreciate your sacrifice, Stone. It's for the greater good.”

  > Please!

  The cable pulled outward and Stone’s jaw was hauled over the shaft. He leaned out, trying to keep his weight on his feet. His hands convulsed behind his back.

  His face pulled him off the platform and he swung down onto the hook. He screamed silently as his neck whipped back and his chin wrenched upward. All his weight dropped onto his jaw. The flesh left at the front of his mouth ripped away as it was crushed under the force of the hook.

  The hook carried him out over the cavernous shaft, transporting him like a piece of meat in an abattoir. He screamed and screamed as he hung suspended from his jaw, his legs dangling below him as he spun on the hook. The pain was excruciating with insufferable pressure on his chin and neck. He wondered if his jaw would rip off or his neck would snap. His bladder released as he fell into the swirling abyss.

  He belatedly realized that the cable was lowering him. He was screaming in agony but he couldn't breathe. The muscles in his throat contracted repeatedly but no sounds came out. He desperately wanted to faint.

  Tyburn and Ekker waved to him as he lowered away. They turned and stepped off the hook platform as he descended into the blizzard swirling around the mouth of the shaft. The wind howled around him, snow blasting from all directions as he sank into the darkness, hanging by the hook in his face.

  He hung helpless, a tiny figure in the dark, five hundred meters below the illuminated crane. A scarecrow blown by the wind, he twisted above the cloud filled abyss that stretched for kilometers in every direction.

  158.

  Nmr Qátl Mourynho streamed out codes to disable the static defense stations. They dropped forward, inert.

  He surveyed the last of the unbeliever's defenses, usually so fierce, standing mute with their heads bowed to the Glory of God. He'd stopped worrying about whether the codes would work or if this was a trap.

  It was God's will and he was God's instrument.

  He walked into the amphitheater and gazed around in awe. Truly he was in the Church of the Redeemer Himself. The perimeter lighting cast long shadows from the colonnade arches, throwing the majestic double helix staircase into sharp relief.

  He vened some God's Glory as he walked toward the base of the staircase. This blessed elixir, collected from raindrops landing on the Shrine of Icol, the Eleventh Halambran Prophet, gave absolute courage no matter what the odds so a warrior could always carry out their mission. He knew the unstoppable courage was always accompanied by wondrous feelings of joy.

  God's Glory surged inside him as he approached the first step.

  He mounted the first step on a wave of ecstasy, feeling as if he were ascending toward paradise.

  159.

  Stephanie was snapped awake outside the cabin by the ping of Weaver's communication request.

  She felt disoriented. A lifetime of discipline and paranoia prevented her from answering Weaver before she'd collected her thoughts. Still she felt sluggish, even a little intoxicated. What was wrong with her? Had her treatment not worked? Had the bastards done something else to her instead?

  “Stephanie, it's Evelyn. I've got some critical information. I was trying to get hold of Abbott but he's not around.”

  Stephanie blinked as she came to her senses.

  “He's in the pyramid with the People's Republic and the United Systems.”

  “The alien is the Talmas. The prisoner
is the threat. Do not release it. Did you get that?”

  Stephanie frowned, still coming out of her stupor.

  “Why not?”

  “The Talmas is the species eliminator, Stephanie. It's a weapon designed to eliminate whole species. The human race.”

  Stephanie glanced at the pyramid.

  “Oh my God.”

  “That's right.”

  “We don't want to be anywhere near it.”

  “We don't want to let it out.”

  “I'll tell them straight away. I'll do it now.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  Stephanie ran forward and dumped her kit in the vehicle, ready to head to her pick up.

  “I better go. My God, I hope I get there in time.”

  “Human survival may depend on it, Stephanie.”

  “You can rely on me.”

  Stephanie cut the connection and considered the situation. What was done was done. She didn't believe in regret. A species eliminator wasn’t something she wanted to be anywhere near if the Gathering let it out. It wasn't her fault anyway – the United Systems and the Gathering were to blame. Her mother would understand.

  She looked at the pyramid entrance as she drove away.

  Poor Abbott.

  He’d always been so useful.

  160.

  Tyburn stood in the cabin alongside Ekker, surveying the holo of their defensive network. Intrepido was running their defense from cabin next door.

  Tyburn caught movement toward the eastern side of the battlespace. Havoc had circled widely, using the extensive canyon systems in the east to his advantage.

  “He got here fast,” Ekker said.

  Tyburn monitored the holo. Their layered defense didn’t seriously commence until closer in but still he watched closely. Call it professional interest and maybe a little personal interest as well – Havoc was coming to kill him, after all. Not that he'd be here if Havoc ever arrived but still.

  “We have incoming,” Intrepido said.

  Tyburn looked at Intrepido on the sidescreen beside his main battlespace holo.

  “He won't try and win by a bit, Intrepido, he'll try and win by a lot. Use whatever it takes.”

  Intrepido smacked his lips.

  “Let’s dance, Havoc.”

  Ekker grinned at Tyburn.

  “Intrepido's well up for it.”

  Tyburn nodded. Intrepido was relishing the challenge. Of course, Intrepido hadn't seen the trail of burnt metal that Havoc had left across fifty systems.

  Intrepido narrated his actions as he managed response.

  “We have a mark. Incoming... Tracking nineteen... Tracking one hundred and four.”

  “Decoys?” Ekker said.

  Intrepido shook his head, his focus on his console as he controlled his assets.

  “Live systems, I think.”

  Intrepido juggled systems, launched electronic assaults, jammed, fired missiles, deployed nanoscreen, maneuvered assets and more.

  “Tracking one thousand three hundred and seventy... Four thousand plus. Sensor saturation... Kinetic rain. Incoming on battery 3758. Fire on battery 9473. Fuck... Fire on outer one, home point. Fire on... It's gone... They’ve gone.”

  Tyburn could see Intrepido shaking his head, still staring at his screens as he continued to manipulate his systems. The first skirmish had been so fast that Intrepido sounded more bemused that concerned.

  “We've lost the eastern forty degree arc.”

  “Ouch,” Ekker said.

  Tyburn studied the holo.

  “Your assessment, Intrepido?”

  “His electronic warfare package is fierce. We should catch him on the inner perimeter. He's on track for the mountains. And we still have your surprise as well. If not, it’ll come down to the blades.”

  Intrepido nodded at this last point, his area of real expertise.

  Tyburn smiled.

  “You’re looking good, Intrepido.”

  Tyburn reflected for a moment. He cut the two-way feed and turned to Ekker.

  “Warm up the shuttle.”

  Ekker frowned in surprise.

  “This is one guy.”

  Tyburn looked at him.

  Ekker puffed his cheeks out.

  “What about the ORC?”

  Tyburn glanced out of the cabin window.

  “They've already loaded three reactors. All they need to do is walk out.”

  “Fair enough. Dawn in less than an hour anyway.”

  Tyburn looked out of the window again. It was true enough. The eastern horizon was a shade brighter, heralding the wall of fire from the surface to the sky.

  “Time to go.”

  161.

  Nmr Qátl Mourynho felt mighty. God's Glory pulsed through his veins, heightening his senses in all directions. He'd vened so much that he almost floated up to the altar.

  Above him, the sky glittered and a star lit up. The Voice of God came directly from the Holy Altar in front of him.

  “Hello.”

  Mourynho gasped and threw himself forward in the light of the Lord.

  “My Lord.”

  There was a pause.

  “Hello?”

  “True happiness is found in obedience to God, your Father, His orders and His prohibitions. Command me, Oh Lord.”

  “I would like you to release me.”

  “No fleeting delight of this world could match the eternal pleasure of freeing the Redeemer to save His people.”

  “You will release me?”

  “My hand is Your Hand, Oh Lord. Command it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Tyburn climbed into the shuttle with Ekker.

  Intrepido's voice burst out like a saw breaking through sheet metal.

  “Bastard.”

  Ekker looked at Tyburn, who shrugged. He had no idea.

  “What is it, Intrepido?”

  “The mountain perimeter. He's nuked it.”

  “Surface nukes?”

  “Yes, three nukes.”

  “Our assets?”

  “Gone.”

  “Move on, Son. Don't worry, you'll get him.”

  “Bastard.”

  “No victory without cost, Son.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Yamamoto looked up from the holo.

  “We have nukes on the surface.”

  Whittenhorn looked horrified.

  “Nuclear weapons?”

  Yamamoto highlighted the holo.

  “Three detonations over this mountain range.”

  Whittenhorn paled.

  “Oh my. What will Abbott say?”

  Yamamoto felt her patience waning.

  “Never mind Ambassador Abbott, Commander. We have inbound communication from the People's Republic... and the Empire of the Sun... and the United Systems... and the Gathering.”

  “The ORC?”

  “Not yet. Ah, yes. And the ORC.”

  “Get me Stephanie Calthorpe.”

  There was a pause as Yamamoto signaled Stephanie.

  “There is no response, Commander.”

  Yamamoto saw Whittenhorn cringe.

  “Try again.”

  Yamamoto tried again.

  “She's not responding. The ambassadors are waiting, Commander.”

  Whittenhorn gazed around frantically.

  “Tell them I'm... out.”

  Yamamoto’s inscrutable mask cracked.

  “Out, Commander?”

  162.

  Havoc saw three bright flashes over the mountain range on the horizon. With the spread he was confident that any lurking weapon platforms would be at least temporarily disrupted.

  Three mushroom clouds hung suspended on the skyline. Three leering skulls. Three terrible masks. One wife, one son, one daughter.

  The Intrepid's arbitrary and lethal touch had abruptly halted. Perhaps they'd decided that stopping the ORC had some merit after all. The battle in the electromagnetic spectrum, temporarily interrupted by the overwhelming energy from the Intrepid's Hel and his nukes,
rapidly climbed back to its prior level.

  He veered left to pick up one of the lines of giant hyperboloid towers that crossed the planet’s surface. Each tower resembled an extruded hourglass and comprised a stack of curving discs. Lightning storms erupted around the colossal structures in the darkness. They receded over the horizon like a row of flickering lamps illuminating a curving road.

  Two lines of the giant towers converged ten kilometers south east of the shaft. He set his route for the final two towers where he would decelerate explosively.

  Platforms on both sides searched for, located and categorized the enemy systems so that they could deploy their offensive assets to best advantage. Sensor control points were prioritized for elimination by soft or hard kill – if you could blind your enemy, no matter how sophisticated their technology, you could take them out at your leisure, avoiding the claws and targeting the soft underbelly. The jamming platforms, as high energy emitters, were vulnerable and the first to go down. Hypersonic missiles streaked across the skies. Focused beams of energy pierced the night. Assets on both sides were destroyed, overwhelmed, subverted and blinded and as they were the ability of the remaining systems to coordinate their stealth and jamming effects was degraded.

  Havoc had got his nukes in first. He was confident that his first strike had handed him a clear advantage in the sensor battle. He knew he was going to reach the shaft. And by now, so did Forge.

  Three thousand kilometers out.

  Five hundred seconds.

  163.

  Jafari brought up the rear as Abbott walked backward, facing toward his diplomatic guests as he beckoned them inside the magnificent amphitheater. Jafari frowned at the strange glow ahead of them as Abbott threw his arms wide.

  “I bid you welcome to what will surely become a wonder of the universe, the grand amphitheater where Ualus of the Aulusthran species currently resides.”

  Jafari felt increasingly disturbed. He activated the static defense stations outside the entrance. They were disabled.