Redemption Protocol (Contact) (25 page)

Bergeron nodded.

“I don't have any secrets. I should be allowed to go.”

“And me,” Humberstone said.

Tyburn shook his head.

“No one is going anywhere.”

Whittenhorn looked torn.

“We wouldn't be surrendering the mission. We would be partnering with another Tier-1 civilization.”

Tyburn spoke quietly.

“I would view it as an attempt to surrender to the enemy.”

Stephanie threw her hands up.

“Oh, come on!”

“I should be allowed to go,” Bergeron repeated.

Havoc thought their enthusiasm was rather misplaced.

“Before we go down this road, bear in mind that the chance these ships have facilities to treat tettraxigyiom contamination is practically nil.”

Stephanie glared at him. Havoc shrugged. Novosa slumped back in her seat.

“True.”

Tyburn cleared his throat.

“I reiterate my request for Acting Command. It’s clear, with seven or eight full warships in the sector, that the potential for conflict is high.”

Abbott gazed coolly at Tyburn.

“As I recall ship security is the exclusive preserve of Captain Yamamoto and independent of you, Mr Tyburn. It was routed directly to Commander Brennen so presumably now to Mr Whittenhorn.”

Tyburn absorbed this rebuff and changed tack.

“We should launch some sleeper platforms on approach. I suggest a million kilometers would be a meaningful perimeter for the capital ships. If they breach say, half a million, we take action.”

Yamamoto nodded.

“Sleeper platforms make sense. And we certainly need some rules of engagement. We have to be pragmatic, though. We can’t fight off nine vessels – that’s ridiculous.”

Havoc nodded.

“We need an agreement for access to Plash.”

“Mr Abbott, I suggest that is your domain,” Whittenhorn said.

Abbott nodded.

“Are we seriously not intending to ask these ships for help?” Stephanie said.

Tyburn shook his head.

“If we did they would know we're in distress. We would be highlighting our weakness.”

Stephanie looked exasperated.

“We
are
in distress.”

Abbott sounded thoughtful.

“As John says, it is virtually certain they do not have the facilities that we need in any case.”

Stephanie shook her head, looking forlorn.

“Ok, that wraps it up,” Whittenhorn said.

Fournier’s low voice rasped out.

“Not quite.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was studying Plash last night. I examined its orbit, which incidentally cannot be maintained without some kind of corrective action, but I am ignoring that for now.”

Weaver turned to Fournier, suddenly animated.

“You found something on Plash?”

“No. But I noticed something peculiar about Jötunn. Some of the clouds at the edge of Jötunn are strangely coherent.”

Abbott frowned.

“Coherent?”

Fournier projected Jötunn onto the holo and highlighted wisps of blue-white cloud on the boundary of the star.

“Some of these clouds should vent off, or be lost in coronal mass ejections, or simply flow with the solar winds around Jötunn. But they don't.”

Tyburn stepped toward the holo, frowning.

“The clouds, you mean?”

Fournier nodded.

“They float in place. They appear self-organizing or coherent in some way.”

“What does that mean?” Stone said.

Fournier shrugged.

“I don't know.”

“Is that normal?” Abbott said.

“It's the first time we've ever witnessed it as far as I'm aware.”

Stone looked uncertain.

“So the aliens are...”

Abbott looked worried.

“Clouds?”

Fournier nodded.

“Possibly.”

There was startled silence for a moment. Abbott was clearly struggling with this development. Presumably being ambassador to a bunch of clouds was not what he’d signed up for.

“The aliens are... clouds? Are they intelligent? Can we talk to them?”

Havoc smiled at Abbott getting straight down to business.

Fournier chuckled.

“I have no idea if we can communicate with them. I have no idea if they’re even alive, never mind conscious. They don't appear terribly complex, in the sense of a discernible internal structure. I doubt they are responsible for the towers we’ve detected on the surface of Plash. They are simply odd.”

Abbott muttered, apparently still preoccupied.

“How do you talk to a cloud?”

“We don’t have a lot of shared experience with gaseous clouds, in terms of common concepts. Wind, perhaps,” Touvenay said.

Whittenhorn appeared rather overwhelmed.

“Yes, well, the science team can think about that.”

Abbott gave Whittenhorn a hard stare and Whittenhorn quickly backtracked.

“Working with the diplomatic team, of course. But for now we need a way forward. There’s a lot to think about.”

“Uh huh,” Weaver said.

Whittenhorn looked vaguely paralyzed.

“Lots to think about,” he repeated.

They waited.

“Priorities, it's all about priorities,” Whittenhorn said.

People started shifting in their seats.

Havoc turned to Weaver.

“The scientific team has a plan for two exploratory shuttle flights, don’t they?”

“Yes, for the deployment of sensors. One shuttle skimming Plash’s atmosphere and the other studying the gravitational anomaly.”

Whittenhorn’s gaze darted around in frustration as Havoc turned to Yamamoto.

“And Captain Yamamoto can deploy our platforms, working with Tyburn.”

Yamamoto nodded and Tyburn signaled his agreement.

“The sooner the better.”

Whittenhorn tutted as Havoc twisted to look at Abbott.

“And Ambassador Abbott can open communication with the other ships.”

Abbott tipped his head forward, smiling at Havoc.

“Indeed.”

Whittenhorn raised his arm.

“Look, Havoc, it's fine, I can––”

Havoc turned to Whittenhorn, his face a picture of innocence.

“Yes?”

Whittenhorn paused.

“Do those things, please.”

Weaver turned to Yamamoto.

“How long before we're into orbit around Plash, in a position to launch disc six?”

“Fourteen hours.”

Bergeron turned to Leveque.

“What about the sanity checks?”

“We'll start them now. I’ll oversee everyone but myself. We'll use the system's unadjusted rating for me. Chaucer can oversee it if you prefer.”

Tyburn nodded.

“Fine.”

Havoc noticed Darkwood in the background, listening intently as ever. Darkwood must be wondering what he'd signed up for. Havoc wondered at Darkwood’s capability level. Together with Abbott, Darkwood would be one of the most capable people on the ship. In all of Hspace, he corrected himself.

Stephanie turned to Tyburn.

“What about the person that murdered Marsac? That detonated him?”

“We’re doing all we can.”

Stephanie didn’t appear impressed with Tyburn’s response. Havoc wasn’t either.

“Care to elaborate?”

Tyburn regarded him coldly.

“I told you I'm handling it.”

Something about Tyburn irritated Havoc.

“Well handle it better, would you.”

Whittenhorn responded angrily.

“Be quiet, Mr Havoc. If we had more time, you would already have proceedings against you for your willful endangerment of the crew and your assault on an officer.”

Havoc shook his head.

“You’re welcome.”

Abbott projected the pursuing ships on the holo.

“Everyone be ready in fourteen hours. We have no idea what the prize is but make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen; we are in a race.”

 35. 

Havoc sat diagonally across from Leveque while he answered the questions posed by a faceless expert system. Its voice was female and pleasant. Havoc wondered if the women got asked the questions by a male voice. Toward the end of the assessment he was presented with a series of sentence fragments. In each case, he had to complete the sentence with the first thing that came into his mind.

“I worry when...”

“I find women always...”

“My father never...”

“When I wake up, I usually feel...”

He answered honestly. He had nothing to hide. Nothing worth hiding, anyway.

After the automated assessment, it was Leveque’s turn.

“The system makes the evaluation but, given my credentials, I can influence the result. Before I begin, please be aware that given the dosage we received, there is around a one in ten chance you are psychologically damaged as we speak, including a small chance of full psychosis."

“Fine.”

“Do you feel guilty about what happened?”

“What happened when? With Marsac?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head.

“No.”

“But you do feel guilty about something?”

"Sure."

“Would it help you to talk about that?”

“Not really.”

Leveque reviewed the results of the standard assessment in her mind's eye.

“You show some unusual characteristics, John. For example, are you familiar with the distinction between hi-machs and lo-machs?”

“Yes.”

“Could you explain it to me?”

“Lo-mach’s are people who haven’t been fucked by a hi-mach yet.”

She waited.

He tried again.

“Hi-machs believe everyone is out for themselves. Since everyone will take advantage of you, why not take advantage of them first? If you don’t, you’re a loser and you deserve what you get.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I'm living proof.”

“Which, given your experience, is perhaps understandable. But you still display a high degree of conscientiousness and duty in your answers, John, which would normally be inversely correlated with your strongly Machiavellian world view.”

He nodded.

Leveque studied his face.

“So you believe that most people are out for themselves but you can't live that way, despite believing it is the most rational thing to do. That must place a tremendous strain on you, John, to feel a sense of duty to others whilst simultaneously believing that most people will use it to take advantage of you.”

Havoc could feel his teeth grinding together.

Leveque waited.

He said nothing.

“Tell me about your interpersonal relationships.”

He laughed joylessly.

“I don't have any. After Jemlevi, everyone hates me unless they need me. They hate me before they even meet me. I'm not complaining. It's just a fact, given what I did.”

She scanned through his results.

“What is your motivation when you avoid close relationships?”

“What I just said.”

She looked at him.

He sighed.

“My work is violent and people die. Also, I think it depends what you're trying to do. Are you trying to maximize happiness or minimize sadness?”

“You prefer sadness?”

“I prefer stability.”

“Could your work be a cause of dissatisfaction?”

He laughed.

“My disappointments are all from people, not from war.”

“What are your goals in life? What do you want to get out of living?”

“I want to kill someone.”

“What do you think the purpose of living is, in general?”

“There is no purpose.”

She watched him. He squeezed out some more.

“Enjoyment. Love. I don't know. Next question.”

His noticed his entire body was tense. His face had morphed into a grimace. His pathetic existence lay dissected on the operating table and it wasn't much to look at.

“If you close your eyes and let your thoughts drift, what do you see?”

“When I close my eyes, all I see are bodies.”

 36.