Redemption Protocol (Contact)

by Mike Freeman

  “Oh my.”

  Havoc stood up.

  “Right, Weaver, we have to go.”

  “Oh my. Havoc, look.”

  Havoc turned slowly as he surveyed the rim of the carousel above them.

  “It's awfully quiet here, Weaver. That can't be good, trust me.”

  Weaver pointed. She was barely able to contain herself.

  “Havoc look at that. It's absolutely incredible.”

  Havoc looked.

  “At the triangle?”

  She nodded excitedly.

  “Yes.”

  Havoc looked at the triangle. She stared at it with him, open mouthed. He looked back at her.

  “Weaver, are you alright?”

  She could barely contain herself.

  “Havoc, look at the angles. They add up to a hundred and eighty two degrees. Space is curving here, seriously curving.”

  Havoc frowned at her.

  “Amazing. You've got the pictures. Let's go.”

  She stared, confounded.

  He lifted her up.

  “Put your feet down for me, my little nerd.”

  She lowered her feet to the floor. Her mind spun with the possibilities. Was it an instrumentation failure? Was there a genuine unknown phenomenon here? How could this possibly be happening?

  “Weaver, we need to go.”

  “Hmm.”

  Havoc gave her a gentle push and she took a couple of paces. Havoc jumped on top of a pillar. He extended his hand to pull her up.

  “Thanks, Weaver. You saved my ass.”

  She grinned as she stuck out her hand.

  “Yes, I did.”

  He lifted her up and out of the carousel ahead of him. She turned toward him as he clambered out.

  “But don't think I've forgotten you called me Steph.”

  He turned in a slow circle, scanning.

  She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “When are you going to move on, Havoc?”

  He shook his head as he jogged toward the exit.

  ~ ~ ~

  They ran along deserted corridors, shrieks of wind mixing with their footsteps in the dark passages. Weaver’s stomach turned at the bodies of Gathering and ORC soldiers strewn about. The building was a tomb now. She reflected on what had happened.

  “I think Tyburn has changed for the better.”

  “No.”

  “He told you about Ekker.”

  “He'd written Ekker off.”

  “He helped us get in here.”

  “Did he take the Scepter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Probably his plan all along.”

  “No, I don't think so.”

  “Remember you're talking about a guy who nuked two billion of his own people. He's a genocidal maniac, even if he's personable.”

  “I don't see it.”

  Havoc grunted.

  “It's a common mistake.”

  “I'm going to see if he'll lift us out of here.”

  “I wouldn't do that. He could use our location.”

  “Tyburn, it's Weaver.”

  Havoc shook his head in disapproval. They emerged through the majestic arches of the southern entrance. Havoc pointed and they ran in the direction of the shuttle. Tyburn responded.

  “Weaver. Are you out?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have Gathering nukes incoming. Tell us where you are. We'll pick you up.”

  “Ok.”

  “Don't worry I've got your location, we're on approach. Who is that with you?”

  “Havoc.”

  There was a pause.

  Tyburn’s tone was scathing.

  “You really don't get it do you, Weaver? You're as naïve as your father.”

  “My father?”

  The ORC spear lifted over the rise ahead of them with its engines howling. Dust swirled around it. Tyburn hung out of the side door with the Scepter in his free hand.

  Havoc surveyed the weaponry along the front of the ORC vehicle.

  “Big mistake.”

  Weaver looked up at Tyburn.

  “You knew my father?”

  Tyburn shook his head.

  “Briefly. He didn't have a lot to say. That was the problem.”

  She couldn’t express the emotions welling up inside her.

  “Then why did you take him?”

  “Because we never considered that the 'Weaver' on the intercepts might be his daughter.”

  Weaver’s hand covered her mouth.

  Tyburn glanced upward.

  “Gathering nukes incoming Weaver, followed by your Diss. Tell Havoc to report to gate six.”

  “Are you going to lift us out of here?”

  Tyburn held the Scepter up.

  “I’ve got all I need.”

  The engines on the ORC spear screamed. Tyburn swung back inside as it lifted rapidly away. Weaver watched the ORC spear shrink to a speck.

  Havoc ran toward their shuttle.

  “Come on, we haven't got long.”

  Weaver stared up at the sky with a determined look. Her lip trembled.

  “Be careful what you wish for Tyburn.”

  She ran after Havoc.

  ~ ~ ~

  Weaver followed Havoc into the shuttle. Havoc turned to her as she took her helmet off.

  “Can you keep it on for me, at least until we're out of here?”

  She tapped her visor and gave him a questioning look.

  He shrugged.

  “I wouldn't. Your call.”

  She retracted her visor.

  He moved into the cabin. Systems lit up across the cockpit. She stepped to the side as Havoc dragged Ekker's body to the rear.

  “What's gate six?” she asked.

  Havoc looked somber.

  “We fought a three year campaign in Ngreao. Bloody and awful. We lived in orbit. Gate six was where they loaded the corpses for shipping home.”

  She didn't know where it came from.

  “Why do you hang out with such awful people?”

  Havoc stopped at the doorway with his hands under Ekker's armpits. He looked confused.

  She shook her head.

  “Sorry that came out wrong. I mean, I just mean... why do you hang out with such awful people?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Let me get rid of this one while I think about it.”

  He disappeared toward the lock. She raised her voice, unnecessarily, as she called after him.

  “In the end it will rub off on you.”

  “Good point,” he shouted back.

  “I'm serious.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Bad things happen to bad people,” she shouted.

  “Uh huh. But sometimes bad things happen to good people as well.”

  “No they don––”

  The side of the cockpit squeezed inward like a crumpled ball of paper. The light and sound were incredible. The last thing Weaver remembered was the pilot's seat lifting up and smashing her in the face.

  231.

  Weaver awoke with a start. She tried to move her head. It was immobile. Someone was holding her head. She breathed. She was breathing in pure oxygen. A mask was being pressed over her face. The rest of her head felt exposed.

  “She's conscious,” a voice said.

  It was a man's voice. A strange accent.

  What was going on? She felt concussed. Her head hurt. Her body had vened a mass of stimulants to revive her or someone had injected them into her. Even so, her head spun and yawed. She was looking skyward through the roof of the shuttle. The ceiling was curled and torn like orange peel.

  She dimly sensed someone cutting part of her suit away.

  “She's hurt down this side. We need to deal with it before we move her.”

  Stephanie's face filled Weaver’s vision. Weaver tried to recoil in horror. Stephanie's left eye was missing and the skin of her left cheek was a mass of blistered sores. Stephanie practically spat her words.

  “Apparently you
are the most valuable thing left in this place.”

  Weaver squinted up at Stephanie. Stephanie’s face distorted as her lip curled in contempt.

  “What kind of idiot doesn't keep their helmet on?”

  Weaver frowned at Stephanie's disfigurement.

  “What happened to your face?”

  Stephanie looked furious as she rose up out of Weaver’s sight.

  “This is her. She's the one we need. Let's go.”

  “One minute. We don't want to lose her.”

  Weaver's head swum. She felt like she was groping around a dark room for the light switch. It occurred to her that Stephanie was in danger.

  “Go while you can Stephanie. Havoc's right behind me.”

  Stephanie's awful face reappeared. Her blisters wept down her cheek.

  “Nice try. We dropped John hours ago. He's dead. The bastard deserved it.”

  “He's here, honestly.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I'm trying to help you.”

  “Shut up! Try to help yourself you stupid bitch. God knows what they'll do to you when they get you back to the ship.”

  Weaver’s head fell back, exhausted from the exchange. She felt cold. A draft blew down her right side.

  “Her vitals aren't good.”

  “Let’s get her in the bag.”

  Weaver didn't like the sound of that. She was worried from side to side like meat on a butcher's slab. A transparent bag was drawn up her body and under her head. A clear disc was zipped over her face. Someone grabbed her ankle and dragged her forward a little. Her head bounced off something.

  Towering over her were two United Systems commandos and Stephanie. Weaver felt like a child lying on her back and looking up at three skyscrapers. She thought she was going to pass out.

  “Stephanie, run.”

  The demonic face swooped down toward her.

  “I told you to shut up you stupid little––”

  Blood spatter covered Weaver’s bag.

  Weaver tried to focus. Two of the skyscrapers toppled outward. Stephanie took a step back.

  “It can't be,” Stephanie protested.

  Weaver watched Stephanie's face. She'd tried to tell her.

  Why didn't people listen?

  232.

  “Weaver, can you hear me?”

  “Nope.”

  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Two.”

  “Good. That's good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We're getting you out of here.”

  “I know.”

  She loved Havoc’s chestnut eyes. He smiled at her.

  “You have a beautiful mind, Weaver.”

  He must be scanning her. She tried to give him a knowing look but her face wasn’t working properly.

  “I know. I'm unique.”

  His eyes shone, interested and curious.

  “You are unique, Scientist.”

  “You don't want me just for my mind, do you, Soldier?”

  He chuckled as he moved out of her vision.

  Stephanie's voice came from the side.

  “Don't fucking move or I'll kill you both!”

  “I'm just going to adjust these fluid bags, Weaver. They need to go in the container before I move you or they'll freeze. Ok?”

  Her eyes tracked slowly sideways.

  “Yep.”

  “Don't fucking ignore me!” Stephanie shrieked.

  “Ok, I'm putting them in now.”

  “Bring that bitch back to my shuttle.”

  “We’re nearly there, Weaver.”

  “I'm counting to three, John. One.”

  Havoc's voice sounded flat and disinterested.

  “Stephanie, don't.”

  “Ha! Now you're listening.”

  “I won't say it again.”

  “Two.”

  “Alright, Scientist, I'm going to sit you up for a second.”

  Weaver felt herself float up then Havoc leaned her gently against a broken seat. He was very tender with her. Stephanie came into view. She was pointing one of the big United Systems commando guns at Havoc's back. Havoc ignored Stephanie as he watched her, concern in his eyes.

  “Ok, we’re nearly ready to go.”

  She blinked slowly.

  “Erm, Stephanie is pointing a gun at you.”

  He checked her eyes.

  “I know. Don't worry.”

  “Quite a big gun actually.”

  “They gave you a heavy shot of trxcilrene.”

  “Not a big as yours.”

  “It will wear off soon.”

  She giggled and tried to put her hand over her mouth.

  “Oops.”

  “You might feel cold and maybe a little scared. There’s nothing to worry about, ok?”

  “Ok.”

  “I'm not fucking joking, John. Listen to me! Three! Fucking three! You're both fucking dead if you don't bring her!”

  “Ok, I'm going to lift you now. I'm going to give you a sedative to help you sleep while I move you. You need to rest.”

  “Die you bastarddd!”

  There was an explosion from behind Havoc.

  Havoc stood and turned, clearing the view for Weaver as he did so. Stephanie sat with a shocked expression. She had a big hole ripped out of her suit like a gingerbread man with a bite out of him. Her gun hit the floor with a clang. She panted hard.

  “Help me.”

  Havoc looked down at Stephanie.

  “Anti-tamper. United Systems commando weapons are slaved.”

  Stephanie grimaced. Tears beaded in her good eye and rolled down her cheek.

  “Help me.”

  Havoc’s demeanor was cold.

  “I told you to stop.”

  “Help me, John.”

  Havoc regarded Stephanie. Weaver frowned. At least Havoc wouldn't do what he’d done with Ekker. They’d spoken about that. Havoc lifted his gauntlet.

  “All your intel.”

  Stephanie glared at him. Havoc’s face was impassive. He didn’t care. Stephanie lifted her arm and tapped her hand against his.

  Havoc shook his head and tutted.

  “I said all of it.”

  A look of pure hatred flashed across Stephanie’s features. Weaver found it frightening. Stephanie tapped Havoc’s hand again as she coughed a mouthful of blood down her front.

  “Now help me, John.”

  Havoc lifted his arm and shot Stephanie in the face.

  Weaver blinked.

  Havoc crouched down in front of her.

  “Ok. It's time to go.”

  Weaver felt numb. She couldn't summon more than mild disapproval as she whispered to him, fading.

  “You just shot your ex in the face.”

  Havoc nodded.

  “Sometimes you just have to move on.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Weaver felt Havoc swing her up in his arms. He stepped down over some debris, maneuvering her carefully. She felt cold. All she was wearing was some torn thermals and a plastic bag. He'd given her a sedative. She knew she'd pass out any second.

  She looked up at him. Her voice was sluggish.

  “I'm cold, Havoc. I don't feel right. I feel ill.”

  She felt warm air blowing into the bag. His massive arms cradled her close. He looked down at her and smiled.

  “Don't worry. I've got you.”

  Reckoning

  233.

  Havoc deposited Weaver in one of the two remaining cabins in front of the Colosseum by the library.

  The United Systems shuttle stood next to the cabins. Weaver would probably find that odd when she woke up. Havoc had crashed the shuttle system and overwritten it with an Alliance protocol so that Weaver could fly it. He exited the lock and strode away from the cabin.

  It was time for him to do what he’d had to do since he’d discovered Forge's new identify. He felt it in his bones and in his blood. He approached the orbital missile battery. The sky burned on the horizon. He gazed at the a
pproaching dawn. It felt right.

  He turned his attention to the orbital missile battery. He chuckled. Stone would love this. What he was about to do was pure Dutch McDaniels.

  Sixteen missiles each provided orbital lift for sixteen delivery packages of eight destination warheads. One hundred and twenty eight warheads in each missile. Except, in one missile: fifteen delivery packages, one hundred and twenty warheads and one John Havoc. A rhyme played in his mind, 'As I was going to St Ives, I met a man with seven wives...'

  A quick exit, they called it. It either worked or it didn’t. He’d been a dead man walking for eleven years. Might as well get it over with, one way or the other.

  He released the most accessible missile so it lifted partially out of its launch tube. He accessed its guidance and crashed it with a little mild overcoding. Flight stability was the key. He opened a panel as he updated the missile’s manifest. Stacks inside the missile revolved and lifted. A delivery package emerged.

  He lifted the delivery package off its rack and lowered it to the ground. He opened the container and lifted out its full complement of eight warheads. He regarded the cramped space. He replaced the empty container back on the rack. Disappointingly, it looked as small as it had on the ground.

  He lifted his head and looked at the horizon. His wife and kids were out there. Maybe he would see them soon. He shook his head to rid himself of such nonsense. He had to get there first. Might as well get it over with.

  He realized why he was hesitating.

  This was his point of no return. If he launched himself upward he was dead. He would never have hesitated before. He looked at the Colosseum. At the shuttle. At the cabins. His gaze lingered on the cabins.

  He looked back down at the empty package.

  234.

  Weaver opened her eyes in unfamiliar surroundings. She felt a lot better. She was in a cabin. An Alliance cabin.

  She’d been woken by vibration – lots of it. Despite the dampening effect of the shocks the cabin rattled around her. There was a thundering boom. What was going on? She pushed herself up on one arm. She was wearing new thermals, carefully cut to allow three dressings down her right side. She felt a twinge of embarrassment.

  “Havoc?”

  No answer.

  The cabin shook. Booming noises rolled over her like salvos from a ship of the line. She sat up and activated the wall screen. The orbital missile battery opposite only had one missile left. There was a terrific crack as a detonation at the base of the launcher blasted the giant missile forty meters into the atmosphere. As it shot upward the bottom of the missile lit and the flame grew rapidly into a bulbous teardrop of explosive combustion. The missile seemed to hang in equilibrium for an instant before it shot away.