Redemption Protocol (Contact) (16 page)

“She loved it when we started going out. But now we have Lucas.”

“Your boy?”

“Ouais. He is a champion of the future.”

“How old is he?”

“Three years old.”

“Ah.”

Havoc didn't need to say much after that. On this mission, Marsac was going to miss a lot of his boy growing up.

“The contract,” Marsac said in explanation, shrugging.

“How long?”

“Another eight years.”

“A twenty?”

Marsac slapped his chest twice. Marsac’s gesture was a reference to him being a Titan – a Titan breathed liquid rather than gas in order to better handle shock. Of course liquid breathers still breathed gas to a small bladder for top ups, sensing, speech, provision of gas to others and most importantly, psychological health.

“Ouais, my way out of the ghetto, of course. Once you go Titan it’s twenty years minimum. Why are you here?”

Havoc smiled wryly.

“L'argent est le roi.”
Money is the king.

Marsac laughed and nodded.

“Where are you from, Havoc?”

“I'm a Fed, Tiger system.” Havoc paused. “Was a Fed.”

“Ah.”

“You?”

Marsac shrugged.

“From the Union, Cala system. A complete shithole.”

Havoc nodded toward the girl on the suit.

“You met...”

“Sylvie. On the job, oui.”

“So you're out at the end of your twenty?”

Marsac nodded.

“Certes oui.”

Havoc gestured past the giant.

“Nice suit.”

Marsac nodded in agreement.

“Ouais, it is.” Marsac glanced over Havoc's shoulder. “Merde. Is that...?”

Havoc turned to look at the inner container revealed by his open outer container. He nodded.

“Yeah.”

Marsac looked at him like he was crazy.

“You
are
paranoid.”

Havoc smiled.

“Sometimes they really are out to get you.”

They both laughed and resumed their tasks, while Marsac's wife continued dancing provocatively on the giant’s suit.

Havoc slid out the inner container from its snug home inside the larger one. He went though the security procedures, opened it up and started to unload and sort his gear. He spun up a recce suit. It was light and not too inappropriate for onboard wear, though Whittenhorn might make a remark or perhaps Tyburn. As far as Havoc was concerned they were in theater now and being in a suit would be the norm not the exception. The centimeter thick suit was comfortable and almost colorless; it seemed to draw color from its surroundings. He wiped the suit software and inserted a new set from his personal storage. It was possible they had changed what he carried in his mind, but that was both harder and meant that he was probably fucked anyway.

While the recce suit ran self-diagnostics, he powered up a combat suit. Marsac whistled in appreciation and wandered over for a closer look. He pointed at the dark sapphire bulges on the outside of Havoc’s suit's shoulders and hips.

“Lasers?”

“Yeah.”

Marsac gestured toward the two domes of interlocked micromissile launch racks, one on each shoulder, bristled with micromissiles pointing in all directions.

“The shoulder racks don't block the lasers?”

“Not unless I'm trying to lase off my own head.”

Marsac chuckled.

“Boosters
and
a jetpack?”

“Yeah.”

Marsac leaned forward.

“Can you flare this thing?”

“Sure.”

Marsac pointed at the tricannons on each forearm.

“What do you carry on the arms?”

“Rails.”

Marsac nodded at Havoc's crates of ammunition.

“Only smarts?”

Havoc nodded.

“My kinetics are smarter than I am.”

Marsac lifted one of the slender fin-guided kinetics to the light.

“Can you imagine there was a time when you had to aim?”

Havoc laughed.

“Can you imagine there was a time you didn't need to blow an incoming round out of the sky to stop it hitting you?”

Marsac nodded as he walked round Havoc's suit.

“Filament blades. Liquid cutter. Active armor. Magazine and a secondary power source.” Marsac turned to face him. “I see the design flaw, Havoc.”

“You do?”

“You have to trail a cable back to an orbital power station.”

Havoc laughed. Marsac shook his head.

“The structure of the primary confuses me. I don't know how you fit it in. You have some miniaturization going on in there, for sure. I would love to know how you do it.”

Havoc shrugged.

“Money.”

Truth be told, Marsac wasn't the only person to see these suits for the first time – at least in their current form. The Morvent Academy had obviously done a bit of work on his inventory while they were putting him back together.

Marsac shook his head.

“If I lost a suit that expensive I'd wish I'd died anyway.”

Havoc laughed.

“Damn right.”

Marsac looked along Havoc's row of suits as they stood neatly to attention.

“And you have
five
. That is some package. How many tacnukes you carry in that thing?”

Havoc shook his head.

“If there wasn't any mystery, you wouldn't find me attractive.”

Marsac laughed.

“No way, mon ami, I'm attracted, trust me. I just wish I was smaller so I could get in it.”

Havoc chuckled as Marsac walked back into his container still shaking his head. Havoc prepped his kit while Marsac assembled a pile of ordnance that gradually grew to a height where the giant disappeared altogether.

Havoc laid out five kit packs, four for the surface and one to be stored on the disc six orbital platform when it was deployed. His equipment spread across the hangar like an oil slick. He lined up his five combat suits, two aerial frames, containers of oxygen, various diluents, water and a stack of crates filled with kinetics, micromissiles and a myriad of sundry items. It turned out that nothing major was missing – a pleasant surprise. In his final container, which he would launch into orbit, were eight positioning satellites, a sky lance orbital platform and a SLAM launcher. In Havoc’s experience there came a point where the only thing that could save you was a very large nuke from space and when you reached that point, you either had one or you punched out.

He put on the recce suit and sorted his kit. He wiped and reinserted the software on everything including ammunition from copies the Morvent Academy had stored in him. He was well practiced and it didn't take long. After thirty minutes there was a whistle from the other side of the hangar. Marsac's head appeared around his own mountain of weaponry.

“Are you planning on having your own war?”

Havoc smiled.

“It's faster to weigh it than count it.”

Marsac thumbed backward.

“Looks like Tyburn’s about to start the briefing.”

“Cool. I'll be with you in a minute.”

Marsac nodded and walked away.

Havoc restacked and locked his containers then set off after Marsac. The security team was entering a cabin on the far side of the hangar, their kit neatly arrayed along one wall.

As they filed into the little room, Ekker, the messy haired, wild eyed trooper that Havoc wouldn't have selected based on his appearance alone, was roundly favoring Karch's toned and tightly clad ass. Ekker was walking slightly faster than Karch and Havoc sensed an impending collision. He recalled that Ekker was the guy that had drifted past him with his dick thumping against his pod window, enjoying a virtual lap dance as he awakened. Ekker clearly hadn't got his impulses under control. Havoc thought that if Ekker tried something, Karch didn’t look the kind of girl to let him off lightly.

 21. 

United Systems
:
Top Secret, Compartmentalized 5

Coding Frame: XWTHVQ TransSlipkey: 019-BMLDI

[Full key omitted]

Timestamp: #661-439-219-930# (
Recent-1
)

Origin:
Scarlet Barracuda

Status: Assumed
Secure
, Agent
Intact

[no deception flags raised]

Coded transcript: Complete, follows

[streaming authentication omitted]

Scarlet Barracuda
> Operational.

US handler> Inhibit exploration until our arrival. Pass data obtained.

Scarlet Barracuda
> Inhibition suggestions?

US handler> Life support, navigation, shuttle guidance.

Scarlet Barracuda
> Understood.

Handler Observations

1.
High value asset
, balance risk reward accordingly.

2.
New agent
in operations. Increase pressure slowly.

3. Mission priority dictates
loss of agent inevitable
.

 22. 

Havoc made his way along the side of the hangar. He passed three blades, each in a different configuration. They looked menacing because they were menacing. Even stationary they looked like they were lunging forward with violent momentum. Three to five meters high and massing from five hundred kilos to two tonnes, blades were highly configurable semi-autonomous combat machines. They were like wildcats formed from sweeping sections of sparkling superalloy with weapon mounts distributed around their frames. They could run, jump and climb across all types of terrain. Certain configurations could fly, dive or skim like a power boat. Versatile and adaptable, their uses ranged from portable missile launchers to exploration units.

Human operatives called
blade runners
controlled up to eight blades simultaneously in tactical combat. While these machines dispensed violence, their blade runner would sit in their hardened booth, remote from the combat, and control their actions – real time chess with real world consequences. For a soldier like Havoc taking on a blade was undesirable at best. Defeating a blade up close was virtually impossible. Tried, of course, but never by choice.

Havoc came through the door of the cabin to find a stand off of sorts. Ekker was kneeling on the floor at the near end of the table with his eyes flashing, flushed and breathing hard, staring at Karch with his hand on his neck. Karch stood over Ekker and if looks could kill then Ekker would leave in a casket. Maybe he still would, Havoc thought.

The words dripping from Karch's lips were coated in acid.

“You touch me again, Ekker, anywhere, any time, by mistake, anything, I'll kill you.”

Ekker swallowed.

Havoc thought Ekker was being surprisingly submissive. As he stepped further into the cabin he saw why. Karch had a nail missing. It was stuck in Ekker's neck with a dribble of blood coagulating around it. The nail was violet, long and properly stuck in. It was a dagger; a poison dart. If Karch wanted to, she could release the poison into Ekker and probably kill him. Ekker had copped a feel and Karch had daggered his neck. Ekker’s eyes were wide and roaming; his throat bobbed as he sought a way out of his predicament. People glanced at Havoc as he entered, then looked back at the action. It was nice not to be the center of attention for once.

Karch looked past Ekker, her expression cold.

“Say sorry, Ekker, and tell me you won't do it again.”

“Fuck you,” Ekker said.

Wrong answer, Havoc thought.

Karch sighed, looking bored.

“It auto-releases after forty five seconds. Or is it thirty?”

Karch inspected her hand, reviewing the top half of her missing nail.

The tension built.

Tyburn watched with his arms crossed. He wasn't going to step in. Probably the right thing, Havoc thought.