Redemption Protocol (Contact) (55 page)

[no deception flags raised]

Coded transcript: Complete, follows

[streaming authentication omitted]

Scarlet Barracuda
> Compromise imminent I need immediate lift out. Please supply coordinates.

US handler> Compromise occurred?

Scarlet Barracuda
> Imminent.

US handler> Is Resident still at home?

Scarlet Barracuda
> Yes.

US handler> Request denied. You are too valuable in place. Carry on, you will find a way through.

Scarlet Barracuda
> Negative, I need lift out now.

US handler>
Request denied. We believe in you.

Scarlet Barracuda
> No you bastards! I've done so much for you. Lift me out.

US handler> Request denied.

Scarlet Barracuda
> You promised me.

US handler> We believe in you. When you're compromised, we'll lift you out. Good luck.

Scarlet Barracuda
> I'll be dead by then!

US handler> Use your initiative. We believe in you.

Scarlet Barracuda
> You can't do this. You promised.

US handler> Good luck.

Handler Observations

1.
Marginal agent value
remains if compromise genuinely imminent
.

2.
Cost/ benefit of extraction
remains
positive
for background intelligence once Resident secured.

 117. 

Weaver's senses strained at their limit.

The brightness of the symbols receded as the sequences flowed. Weaver was suffused with relief. Then disbelief. Then curiosity. What was happening? How the hell was Fournier doing this? The difficulty level was incomprehensible.

The image of the coherent cloud continuously evolved, adding layers of complexity. The cloud appeared next to Plash with equations streaming past. But Weaver couldn’t focus on the content. She was drawn to the most impressive intellectual feat she'd ever witnessed. The rush from the sequences was extraordinary and exhilarating. How the hell was Fournier manipulating them successfully? How, exactly, were they still alive?

Standing with Fournier, somehow chained to him, she could witness his actual thought process in solving the sequences. She tried to get some insight into his approach.

She saw multiple potential solutions grabbed and discarded, lots of options scanned and briefly considered. It was like watching a master painter visualize a thousand possible brush strokes at the level of his subconscious, then consciously pick one. Weaver was struck by how Fournier seemed to intuit a sequence that he felt had potential then commit to it. Fournier made it work. She was surprised to see that not every solution was perfect. Fournier made a surprising – alarming even – number of mistakes and adjustments. He stumbled, fumbled and forced through unnecessary terms but he didn’t slow, he kept moving and it seemed to work. Goodness, it was working. Fournier was confident enough that he kept going. Equations, manipulations, transformations – he was doing brilliantly. He was utterly committing to fragments of sequences in a way that Weaver never did. And, she sensed, somehow Fournier was approaching the sequences as an integrated whole – there was a meta-level approach to his manipulation that she hadn’t seen before, if she could just––

“Are you ok?” Fournier said.

“Damn!” Weaver cried.

“What’s wrong?”

“Damn and damn and damn!”

“What?”

“I was so close!”

“What?”

“When you pulled out, I was so damn close!”

Weaver became aware of Darkwood holding her arm. She looked at him. Darkwood blinked and let go of her arm.

“That was incredible,” Darkwood said.

Weaver stood shaking her head.

“Damn.”

“And excruciating,” Darkwood said.

Weaver looked at Darkwood, feeling confused.

“You felt pain?”

Darkwood nodded.

“Like something was pumping lightning into my mind.”

Weaver frowned. The sequence had felt unbearably intense but it hadn't actually hurt, not in the way that Darkwood was describing.

Fournier frowned at her.

“What were you close to?”

“I was close to...”

Weaver stopped dead. It was Fournier asking the question.

“Are you alright, Jed?”

“I seem to be. Though in review it appears my islands of sanity are perhaps shrinking somewhat.”

Everyone looked at Fournier sympathetically. Darkwood smiled.

“I think you've just shown us the art of the possible.”

Weaver nodded.

“Definitely.”

Kemensky grinned excitedly.

“We can access a much higher level than we thought.”

Weaver wasn’t convinced. Fournier was unique. She raised an eyebrow at Kemensky.

“
We
can?”

Darkwood marveled at Fournier.

“You were doing things beyond what I had conceived of as possible.”

Weaver nodded.

“I agree.”

Kemensky’s eyes were bright as he gestured at Fournier.

“If Fournier can, then we can too.”

Darkwood shook his head.

“That, unfortunately, is optimistic nonsense.”

Weaver nodded.

“Exactly. Rubbish. Took the words right out of my mouth.”

“He’s right,” Fournier said.

Weaver made a knowing face at Kemensky.

“See?”

“I meant Kemensky was right.”

“What?”

“Thank you,” Kemensky said.

Fournier looked between them.

“But I was talking about her, Kemensky, not you. And I can’t speak for you, Darkwood, I haven’t seen you work.”

Kemensky looked hurt.

“If someone shows it can be done then it can be done.”

Being Fournier’s passenger had obviously done wonders for Kemensky's self-confidence.

Fournier’s eyes narrowed.

“I admire your rejection of self-limiting beliefs, Kemensky, but be careful not to confuse them with self-limiting capabilities.”

Kemensky spread his hands.

“I’m as bright as Weaver. And easily as knowledgeable.”

Fournier grunted.

“The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge, Kemensky, it's imagination. Weaver has the imagination and you do not. I don't criticize you for it. You could no more imagine these possibilities than you could grow another leg.”

Weaver winced. Kemensky looked crushed as he stormed toward the ship hangar. Fournier walked away in the opposite direction. Weaver felt a deep twinge of sympathy for Kemensky and reached after him.

“Daniel.”

Kemensky threw up an arm, shrugging her off.

Weaver turned and hurried after Fournier.

“Can you show me?”

Fournier tutted.

“As much as I can show you how to ride a bike. You’ve just had the lesson. You can do it, just trust yourself.”

“You have an approach, some kind of a meta-level approach.”

He turned to her.

“What do we have billions of years experience in?”

She blinked.

“Er, evolving?”

He blew out his cheeks in disgust.

She tried again.

“Modeling?”

His eyes narrowed, interested.
Close enough,
they said. He looked at her.

“Metaphor.”

She didn’t get it.

“Metaphor?”

Fournier nodded.

“Human minds are metaphor machines.”

“That's it? You trust yourself to that?”

“That's my approach.”

“That's it?”

He watched her. He didn’t say anything.

She shook her head, scarcely able to believe it.

“But the consequences of failure?”

Fournier grunted in frustration.

“Do not matter if you
will not fail
.”

 118. 

Havoc sped through a gap in the wall with the vehicle kicking up a long plume of dust behind it that was scattered by the wind. He accelerated hard up the first dune then braked so they didn't catch too much height on the back side. He accelerated down the far slope and they were compressed as they took the dip before being lifted moments later as they crested the next rise. Stephanie seemed as lost in her thoughts as he was as the vehicle crashed into the ground repeatedly.

> Havoc, can you––

Stone was trying to communicate with him, but for some reason Stone’s signal wasn’t being relayed orbitally. Havoc assumed enemy subversion. In the meantime, Stone was relying on skywaves reflected off Plash’s ionosphere. Still, the signal was poor. Havoc cast back while steering around a crest as he monitored Novosa's position on their battlespace. Novosa was moving very slowly. Havoc grimaced. He couldn’t understand how they hadn’t detected her without deliberate countermeasures by another civilization.

> Havoc, can you hear me?

> I can hear you, Bob.

The vehicle bumped violently as he bounced over the dunes.

> Havoc, can––

Stone cut out again as their vehicle converged on Novosa's dot on the battlespace. The vehicle roared over the top of a rise with dust spuming around it. Novosa lay twenty meters away. It looked impossible for someone in her condition to be alive, never mind moving.

“Fucking hell,” Tomas said.

> Havoc, can you hear me?

> I can hear you, Bob.

> Havoc, something is definitely wr––

Havoc tried to reconnect with Stone as he swerved the vehicle to a halt.

Nothing.

He turned to Stephanie. She stared at him wide eyed. He could see why. Novosa had been savagely butchered. He pointed to his ear, then at Novosa.

“Take care of her.”

Stephanie's face lit up at his call to action. She leaped out and ran toward Novosa with Charles and Tomas hot on her heels.

Havoc deployed his jetpack and launched upward to get a better signal.

> Go ahead, Bob.

~    ~    ~

Novosa looked up at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Her hopes rose exponentially. It was a dream come true. She was going to make it. She was going to live.

She would have cried if she was capable.

She raised herself up on her elbows. The outline of an Alliance ground vehicle screeched to a halt. A figure jumped out and ran toward her. Two more followed close behind, carrying something.

Novosa felt elated. She’d taken the pain and won. The blurred image of the lead figure neared her.

Novosa felt emotion choke her. She might have doubted herself but she'd done it. She felt proud of herself. It was a test and she’d passed. God, she was a mess.

The blurred image of the lead figure came into focus. The wheezing sensation of her breathing stopped for the first time since she'd woken up.

Total horror gripped her. Inwardly, she crumbled. There were two people behind her nemesis but she was powerless to communicate with them.

She would have cried, if she could. Instead she tried to turn, flopping over the ground as she sought to escape. It was a nightmare, the cruelest twist.

The death of hope.

~    ~    ~

Havoc watched as Stephanie circled round and approached Novosa from the far side. Novosa scrabbled the wrong way – away from Stephanie – clearly disoriented. Stephanie knelt down and rolled Novosa onto her back. Novosa waved her stunted limbs and raised her terribly disfigured head, distressed and hysterical. No wonder, Havoc thought. He could see where Novosa’s comstrip had been brutally cut out. A filament blade injury, he assumed.