Redemption Protocol (Contact) (17 page)

Ekker was deciding if Karch would do it. He looked as though he was leaning toward believing that she would. Havoc agreed.

Ekker crumbled.

“Sorry.”

Very sensible, Havoc thought.

Karch waited.

“I won't touch you again,” Ekker said.

Karch raised an eyebrow.

The words were torn out of Ekker.

“I promise.”

Havoc thought Karch might have pushed Ekker a little far, right there. Karch leaned in and tugged the dagger from Ekker's neck.

“Damn right you won't.”

Ekker grunted and collapsed back, a sheen of sweat across his brow.

“You––”

Tyburn’s voice was scathing.

“Shut it, Ekker. You fucked up and got what was coming to you. Touch any more crew and I'll gut you myself.”

Havoc felt like he'd come home.

Ekker quietened, rubbing his neck as he stood up.

“What are you, Havoc, officer material?” Tyburn said.

Havoc looked over, surprised. Tyburn was standing at the other end of the table with his hands on his hips. It was the archetypal officer pose. Havoc realized that he was standing in the exact same pose, hands on his hips. The hierarchy was being established and Tyburn wanted to be at the top. Havoc understood Tyburn's position and was relaxed about this own. He dropped his arms.

“Just thought I'd say hello to everyone.”

The crew was arrayed along the walls of the cabin. Ekker stood to his right, his eyes burning like a wounded animal’s. Behind him was Marsac in his ironic vest top.

Tyburn nodded.

“You know Ekker and Marsac. This is Karch, security operative.”

Karch stood to Havoc’s left, wearing a skin tight black suit, toying with her nailless finger. Karch had coffee colored skin, big brown eyes and her hair snaked out in short tufts like a Medusa. She looked lean and dangerous which wasn’t too surprising given that she did the same job as Havoc.

“Hi Havoc.”

He nodded.

Tyburn gestured across the table.

“Intrepido and Novosa are blade runners.”

Intrepido sported a stylish goatee, his hair was spiked up and sideways and he wore reflective glasses. Intrepido nodded coolly. Havoc thought Intrepido probably couldn’t nod uncoolly if he tried.

Novosa stood to the side of Intrepido, with her hair swept back, wearing a white blouse open at the neck. She and Havoc acknowledged each other.

Tyburn seemed content at Havoc falling in line with no protest.

“All fine with the science team?”

Havoc nodded, still looking around.

Ekker curled his lip.

“Yeah, we decided we didn't need any bravo foxtrots on our squad.”

Havoc had met Ekker's type before. Ekker was clearly insulting him to try and re-establish himself after his humiliation by Karch. You didn't win people like Ekker over by trying to be nice to them – they took civilized behavior as weakness. Havoc reflected on the insult. He'd been doing this for years.

“It's not a competition, Ekker.”

Ekker grunted, feeling Havoc backing down.

Havoc stared at Ekker, unblinking.

“But if it was, I'd win.”

Novosa clapped, delighted.

“Dickfight! Come on, boys, let's see who's got the biggest. We can score you on length, rigidity, the blue marbled quality of the veining...”

Karch cracked up and the others laughed, including Havoc himself.

Intrepido theatrically lifted a hand. He spoke in a romantic, sing song accent.

“Come on, guys, why can’t we all get along?”

Ekker glared at Intrepido.

“Where's your beret, you fucking faggot?”

Intrepido gave Ekker the finger.

“Fuck you, Ekker.”

“Just worried about you, Intrepido, since you have such a man crush on our war criminal here. If you can perform under pressure.”

Ekker was on tilt now, swinging at everyone. Not a good characteristic to have, Havoc thought, wondering why Ekker was here.

Intrepido retorted without a hint of modesty.

“Fuck you, man, I'm the fucking best.”

Novosa glanced sideways at her fellow blade runner.

“Modest as well.”

Intrepido spread his hands.

“Would you rather I was modest and incompetent, or bold and talented?”

Novosa made a 'woo hoo' expression.

Well, he was arrogant, Havoc thought. He might even be good. And even though Intrepido was full of it, Havoc agreed with what he'd said.

Havoc looked straight at Ekker.

“Did you pick this team, Tyburn?”

Tyburn shot straight back.

“Don't ever question any element of my command, Havoc, directly or indirectly.”

Havoc put his hands up.
No problem
. He'd sent his message to Ekker and he could see it had been received and understood.

Ekker sneered at him.

“You going to put your money where your mouth is, Havoc? Suit up?”

Ekker was suggesting that they jump in the sims and run some scenarios against each other.

Havoc shrugged.

“Sure.”

Ekker grinned lopsidedly.

“Gotta warn ya though, I'm pretty good.”

“No such thing as a 'pretty good' alligator hunter, Ekker.”

Ekker licked his teeth. Havoc could see what was coming next.

“Probably be harder than launching bioweapons at helpless civilians.”

“You want to set it to ten?”

The room went quiet. Ten was fatal shock.

Ekker hesitated.

Intrepido smiled.

“Big boys’ games, big boys’ rules, Ekker.”

Ekker shot Intrepido a dirty look.

Marsac chuckled.

“Now you have got the wet feet, Ekker, yes? Cold feet? Ah yes, thank you. With your wet chilly feet you are shivering, Ekker, no?”

There was laughter. Marsac could say whatever he liked with impunity – a Titan X could take out almost anything.

Ekker spat his retort.

“I say fuck you all.”

Novosa sized him up.

“They say ignorance is bliss, Ekker. Is it true?”

“You want some, Novosa?”

Novosa’s expression was pure disdain.

“I'd rather fuck a corpse.”

Karch smiled.

“Remember, Ekker, dead girls don't say no.”

There was laughter.

Ekker turned to Novosa.

“You blade jockeys can always join us in the sim.”

Novosa shook her head.

“I can’t run in those things. I can’t stand my tits knocking me out.”

More laughter.

Ekker didn’t know when to stop.

“Just gonna sit and twiddle your dials, then?”

Novosa sighed.

“Well I'd rather be pleasuring myself in a bubble bath. But then what would there be to look forward to on a Saturday night?”

Ekker turned back to Havoc.

“Well, Havoc?”

“If Tyburn has no objections...”

Tyburn nodded, walking out into the hangar.

“Let's work it out in the sim. We can do four way drills.”

Havoc smiled.

“Not sure I can take three at once.”

“Oh I think we all know what you’re capable of,” Tyburn said.

The others filed out. Karch and Novosa reached the door at the same time as Ekker, who gestured with his arm.

“Ho's before bro's, sisters.”

Karch snorted and walked out.

Tyburn addressed them once they were out in the hangar.

“Alright. Reconvene at the sims in half an hour. Steel true. Blade straight.”

Havoc stiffened at the mention of the 112
^th
, Strike Corps motto.

“When were you in Strike, Tyburn?”

Tyburn stared at him.

“Well, either before or after you, Havoc.”

Tyburn walked away. Tyburn had the body language of a Strike officer, Havoc realized. He'd registered it before but it was only now he was explicitly conscious of it.

Ekker turned to him.

“See you in the sims, Havoc. Let's sort out the men from the boys.”

Havoc almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

 23. 

The saboteur worked quickly in the time remaining between the team briefs and the formal dinner. They deftly broke down the elements of their kit and uploaded various fragments of code from different sources of digitized storage – a fragment of hair, some fabric and a button. The innocuous digital fragments were decrypted and combined to form blocks of attack code.

With the code uploaded to their person and ready to be injected, the saboteur made their way across the ship. They had their instructions.

Inhibit exploration
.

Given what they planned to do, someone was in for a hell of a surprise.

And who ever heard of a
good
surprise?

 24. 

The gentlemen in the Hub Hab fiddled with their collars and otherwise got used to their tuxedos. Havoc stood beside Marsac, who towered over him like a bouncers' bouncer.

A delicious smell of cooking wafted through the room. Fournier was busy in the kitchen and whatever he was making smelled mouth watering. Everyone wore black except for Intrepido, who wore a white tux, and Brennen, Whittenhorn and Tyburn, who wore their white Federation uniforms. Brennen, Whittenhorn and Fournier also wore easy-on, easy-off cooking smocks. It was Alliance tradition for the Mission Lead and their XO to cook and serve the crew their first dinner. Whittenhorn's face said it was a tradition he could do without.

Havoc watched Ekker meander toward him wearing a sneer.

“Almost had you on round two,” Ekker said.

“Horseshoes and hand grenades, Ekker.”

“I'm just fucked from de-freeze.”

Havoc shook his head in disgust.

“Zero out of five and then you quit.”

“I was tired.”

“Training is like wrestling a bear, Ekker. You don’t stop when you’re tired. You stop when the bear is dead.”

Ekker scowled.

“It fucking hurt.”

Havoc nodded in agreement.

“Pain hurts.”

Ekker had insisted the jolt of pain administered on simulated death be set at seven. Seven hurt, a lot. Ekker had probably dreaded dying after the first time, even if it wasn’t real. Havoc preferred to think that way anyway, otherwise you got cavalier about dying in sim and could take that attitude into real combat. They even had a name for it – ‘sim happy’. There were augmentations that switched off pain altogether. Havoc had never seen a good outcome to this. It was a slippery slope. Pain suppression, sometimes. But no pain at all? Nature would have evolved hunters without pain if it made them better survivors. It didn't do anything for survivability. He'd seen it again and again.

“I could teach you a few things about taking out shuttles,” Ekker said.

Havoc laughed. He’d severely limited his performance to mask his capability and now Mr Zero-for-five Ekker was offering him advice.

“I don't ask a nun how to give a better blowjob, Ekker.”

Marsac burst out laughing.

Ekker's lip curled back.

“Well fu––”

Brennen cut in.

“Language, gentlemen, the ladies will be here soon.”

“Sorry.”

Havoc glanced over at Stone, who stood watching the fish. He was pleased to see that Stone seemed to be feeling better. A bright blue fish swum up and looked at Stone. Stone blew imaginary bubbles at it.

Ekker snorted.

“Fuck me, Stone, get your trunks on and jump in. It's the only action you'll get on this trip.”

Brennen’s voice floated serenely from the counter.

“Language, Mr Ekker. I won't ask you again.”

Touvenay wrinkled his nose at Ekker.

“A difference in humor is a great strain on the affections.”

Ekker scowled at Touvenay. Whittenhorn approached, dispensing drinks, as Stone pointed into the tank.

“Those tiny octopuses don't look too happy.”

“Octupi,” Whittenhorn said.

“Octupi is ignorant in three languages simultaneously,” Touvenay said.