Redemption Protocol (Contact) (24 page)

People were trying to work out if they were going mad. After trying to analyze your own thoughts for a few minutes, evaluating continuously if you were going mad, you probably
were
going mad. Constantly probing at your consciousness, your mood and your reasoning to try and reassure yourself that you are still the same person you were five minutes ago was not a recipe for sound mental health. Ultimately, for around half of them, they would realize at the onset that things were not quite right, without knowing if their condition would stop there, mildly damaged, or if they would continue their descent into complete madness.

Their quality of leadership would make a huge difference as to whether they got through this. Havoc looked over at Whittenhorn and sighed. No point trying to predict the future, he thought, it comes soon enough.

Touvenay sat near him with a book in his hand. Physical books were inefficient, of course, but everyone had a discretionary weight allowance to use as they saw fit – that was the point.

Touvenay looked at him over the top of the open book and read aloud.

“Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,

It seems to me most strange that men should fear;

Seeing that death, a necessary end,

Will come when it will come.”

Havoc nodded.

Stone came over with his breakfast on a tray.

“You guys know how Brennen is?”

By which Stone meant,
has anyone actually looked in on him?

Havoc nodded.

“I put my head in. He's stable, physically improving. His brain is damaged.”

“He's gone?”

“It's hard to know until he's conscious.”

Jafari sat near them and soon afterward Hwan joined their table. Weaver sat at the far end. The room gradually shifted from individuals to groups. Stone glanced around the room.

“Quite a lot to think about.”

Havoc nodded. Stone was the kind of guy to verbalize it all. Stone spoke to think, the ideas emerging from his mouth half-formed. If they made sense to Stone when he said them, then he was content that was what he thought. If not, he said something else.

Touvenay set his book down.

“I have decided not to descend into madness.”

Stone looked confused.

“But how will you know?”

“If I believe I am losing my faculties I shall arrest the process while I still understand it and myself.”

Weaver looked horrified.

“You cannot mean suicide?”

Touvenay did not react.

“Really?” Jafari said.

“What if you're wrong?” Havoc said.

Touvenay sighed.

“True, but I wish my final act to be a conscious one, with me at the helm so to speak.”

“It's wrong,” Weaver said.

Jafari looked worried.

“It's wrong in my faith.”

“But not in mine,” Touvenay said, “I would act on my final right.”

Tyburn grunted from the next table.

“It's a coward’s way out.”

“I see it as a bold choice,” Touvenay rebutted.

“It's illegal,” Humberstone said.

Touvenay laughed.

“There is nothing more obvious to me than my own unassailable title over my own life. How I choose to dispose of it is my choice.”

Tyburn stopped eating and turned to Touvenay.

“What about duty to the mission? Patriotism?”

Touvenay wrinkled his nose.

“Patriotism is idiocy – the conviction that your nation is superior to all others because you were born in it seems fallacious at best. My ultimate duty is to myself. I want to choose my fate with dignity. As for my duty to the mission, this is a step I would only contemplate should my mind be about to be lost. I would say that removing one more rambling madman would likely be a boon, not a burden, to my colleagues.”

Touvenay had a point there, Havoc thought, though Tyburn didn’t look impressed. Tyburn got up and walked over to the meeting rooms as Leveque exited the diary room. She looked pretty broken. Touvenay turned at the swish of the door opening and beckoned her over.

“Natalie, I found a reading I thought you might like. I copied it out for you. It might help you express something to your husband and children, I can't say.”

Leveque stared at the paper with Touvenay's elegant handwriting scrawled across it.

“Shall I read it for you?” Touvenay asked.

Leveque nodded and Touvenay picked up the paper.

“Hours fly,

Flowers die.

New days,

New ways,

Pass by.

Love stays.”

Leveque nodded, crying.

“It's beautiful, thank you.”

Touvenay nodded and handed her the paper.

Havoc watched as Ship Captain Yamamoto, Mission Lead (Acting) Whittenhorn and Security Lead Tyburn gathered for a conference outside the meeting rooms. Abbott and Stephanie also joined the conversation.

Stone looked around the table.

“Did any of you have those dreams?”

Vivid and strangely colored dreams caused by tettraxigyiom contamination, Stone meant. Stone wanted to check he wasn't alone. There was probably going to be a lot of that, Havoc thought.

“Yes,” came the replies from all around.

On the other side of the room, Abbott cleared his throat.

“Before we commence the day with our Acting Commander's briefing, I would ask you to join me for a brief memorial to Ethan Marsac.”

 33. 

The crew assembled in Hab eleven, standing in a semicircle along the rim of a large black circle displayed on the center of the floor. On the opposite side of the circle Abbott stood facing them. In the center of the circle a torch burned brightly with a lively flame.

Beyond the black disc they were standing on, the floor, walls and ceiling of the hab appeared completely transparent, displaying the view of space outside. They drifted through the majesty of space on a polished black disc, surrounded by the red hydrogen clouds of the Telson Nebula and a billion stars of varying luminosity. Havoc’s attention was drawn to the brightly burning flame at the center of this infinite amphitheater as Abbott spoke.

“We are gathered here today in memorial of Sergeant Ethan Marsac, Phalanx Three, Force Projection, from the Cala System in the Union of Ursula Systems of the Alliance of Free Peoples. We did not know Ethan well. We never had that chance. But he took part in this mission, on behalf of his Union and our Alliance, because he believed in service and duty. Ethan was prepared to risk his life for his values and for his sacrifice he has earned our eternal gratitude and respect. He is survived by a wife, Sylvie, and a son, Lucas, and though it will be years before they learn of his passing, we know it will not soften the blow of his loss.”

Galaxies drifted past the flickering torch as Abbott continued.

“Do not stand at my grave and weep;

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush,

of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there, I did not die.”

As Abbott spoke the verse, the flame slowly diminished. It turned from a fierce orange to a melancholy red, matching the galaxies surrounding them. Toward the end of the reading the flame dimmed and began to flicker. As Abbott read out the final line it guttered and as Abbott finished, the flame went out.

There was a minute of silence.

Abbott nodded at Jafari.

Jafari stepped forward to complete his faith's ritual of death, the faith that he had shared with Ethan Marsac.

“The first step to eternal life is you have to die.”

From the adjacent disc, a rocket curved out from the ship. It raced over the top of their Hab, clearly visible as it moved across the ceiling, its bright tail diminishing as it receded. They watched it get smaller and smaller until it was gone.

“Ethan Marsac,” Abbott said.

“Ethan Marsac,” they repeated.

Abbott scanned across the faces in front of him.

“We are here for a purpose, a purpose that Ethan Marsac was prepared to die for. We may feel afraid of what might befall us, but we must not demean life by standing in awe of death. We cannot banish dangers but we can banish fears. Where there is life there is hope. It is conceivable that Plash has the technology to deal with our contamination, or the raw materials for us to use, or our own ingenuity will find another way. We do not know what will happen, but we can honor the memory of Ethan Marsac by giving it our unstinting best.”

On Havoc's first deployment as a young officer his Colonel had told him, 'a leader is a dealer in hope.' Abbott was living and breathing that sentiment now. Havoc could feel the room lift and focus.

Abbott regarded them.

“One day, maybe soon, your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it's worth watching.”

 34. 

Havoc watched Chaucer come into the Hub Hab after everyone else, having visited Brennen en route. Chaucer looked much happier now; positively buoyant.

Weaver looked at Chaucer as he approached.

“Any news?”

“We have a proper diagnostic...”

“And...?”

“He's pretty much a vegetable.”

“Doctor!” Bergeron said.

Chaucer turned to Bergeron and nodded politely.

“Hmm, I beg your pardon. Brennen has extensive and irrevocable brain damage. He is in a vegetative state. Given the condition of certain areas of his brain, this state will persist indefinitely.”

“The wheel is spinning but the hamster is dead,” Ekker said.

“Mr Ekker!”

“Mr Ekker is unfortunately accurate in his description, Miss Bergeron. Functional neuroimaging shows that there is almost no residual higher cognitive function.”

“Can he recover?” Weaver said.

Chaucer shook his head.

“I would say not. He has a critical brain injury, his contamination is severe and with the facilities and timescales available, irreversible.”

“What do you suggest?” Bergeron said.

“I suggest we give him a week to confirm our prognosis, then either freeze him or switch off his feeding tube and let him sleep.”

Bergeron looked horrified.

“Let him sleep? Is that some kind of sick euphemism for 'kill him'?”

“Freeze him or let him go, yes.”

“Kill him? Our Commander?”

Chaucer didn’t seem offended by Bergeron’s accusatory tone.

“A dying man needs to die as an exhausted man needs to rest, Miss Bergeron. There comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist. But if you prefer then freeze him, transport him home and force his family to terminate him instead. It is only my opinion.”

Bergeron was aghast.

“You're suggesting we let Brennen die?”

Chaucer frowned.

“I think I'm suggesting he's already dead.”

Bergeron felt silent as Chaucer wandered away to get a drink.

“I think we should view the other ships as an opportunity,” Stephanie said.

Whittenhorn turned to her.

“What do you mean?”

“Medically. With our contamination.”

Whittenhorn looked thoughtful.

“Ah.”

“Out of the question,” Tyburn said.

Stephanie turned to him.

“Why not?”

Tyburn was dismissive.

“You’re suggesting we give another nation access to our crew. Do you have any idea what they could learn or implant?”

“You mean from a security perspective?”

“Of course.”

Stephanie looked bemused.

“Don't you think we're already pretty far gone in that respect?”

Tyburn glared at her.

Stephanie tried again.

“We could broadcast our emergency and ask for their help. Maybe they have the materials? But if they want to administer it, we should still consider it.” Stephanie looked around her. “Shouldn't we?”