Redemption Protocol (Contact) (37 page)

“Still want the same location?”

Weaver nodded.

“The gate on the south side.”

Weaver pointed as they flew past a series of monumental arches that passed through onto the magnificent plaza inside the Colosseum itself.

“There it is.”

In the center of the inner plaza was a giant seven sided black obelisk, three hundred meters high. On the facing side of the obelisk was a massive gateway, perhaps twice the height of the southern one they were going to attempt to open first.

“You don’t want to go straight for that one?”

Weaver shook her head.

“The access level is much too high.”

Havoc nodded as they dropped lower.

“They’re away,” Novosa said.

Havoc climbed the shuttle as the pods rocketed down and the blades deployed. He looped the vehicle back round so they could land.

On the surface, the blade pack was free and running. Novosa had six on the ground and two in the sky, plus their four platforms on overwatch. Their mission net hummed with streams of data detailing the battlespace. Missionspace, Havoc corrected himself, since there hadn't been a battle yet.

“Everyone ok to go in?”

There were nods of assent. People looked a bit uncertain about the weather. Tyburn spoke from orbit.

“Looks good from here.”

Havoc nodded. He pinged a location.

“Ok, I'm going to bring her down here, near the southern entrance to the Colosseum.”

“Confirmed,” Whittenhorn said.

Weaver raised a hand.

“Wait.”

Havoc glanced across.

“What is it?”

Weaver studied her instrumentation.

“The ground is ice, not very thick. Maybe fifteen centimeters, fine for us, not advisable for the shuttle.”

“The cabins?”

Weaver nodded.

“Should be fine with the weight distribution. Only the shuttle to worry about. I'd land here instead.”

“Agreed,” Novosa said.

Havoc scanned the location that Weaver had pinged.

“Fine, I'm dropping her now.”

The shuttle lowered through the storm, buffeted by the wind in the lee of a great column. Havoc dropped four static defense stations which scattered in all directions as they hit the ice. They planted their support legs, lifted off the ground and their outer shells retracted to reveal phase arrays, missile racks and kinetic weapons.

Havoc assessed their status.

“Landing site is secure. Novosa?”

“No threats detected. We’re clear.”

Havoc landed the shuttle on the ice. He scanned the instruments. It all looked good.

“Welcome to Plash, ladies and gentlemen.”

The shuttle bustled with activity as the crew rapidly assembled in the rear cabin. The wall screen revealed glimpses of the Colosseum towering over them, obscured by driving snow. Weaver looked awed by the sight of it.

“This must be how a peasant felt coming to the Colosseum in ancient times.”

Havoc’s jetpack unfurled. Weaver ducked away from him in her exploration suit. She shook her head as she took in his appearance.

“Blimey. We want to meet them, not scare them into hiding.”

Havoc turned to face the bay doors. The others gathered behind him.

“Anyone not ready?”

There was silence.

Havoc swung the bay doors open, exposing them to the infernal weather. Snow blasted inside as the wind shrieked around them. Havoc took a step into the blizzard with the wind howling around him. He paused for a moment, scanning, then strode down the ramp and into the maelstrom.

“No one lives for ever.”

 63. 

Havoc glanced up from his position at the base of the Colosseum. The gigantic alien tower soared overhead like the surface of another world juxtaposed over this one. A gust of wind crashed into the huge vertical face and roared down toward them.

“Hang on.”

Havoc ducked down and braced himself.

“Here comes another one.”

Havoc fought to maintain his balance as the gust blasted them. Kemensky was smashed flat, twisting on his securing lines – Havoc had secured everyone on cable runs as a precaution. As the gust dispersed, he reached over and pulled Kemensky to his feet.

“Ok, we're good.”

Snow with a yellowish tint blasted onto them as they stood to one side of a huge charcoal gate that was set into the base of the Colosseum. Unfathomable carvings swarmed over the gate, intertwining with each other. And they were
moving
. Very slowly, at speeds a standard human eye couldn’t detect, the carvings flowed and changed form. The gate itself appeared to consist of seven intertwined blocks, with hieratic murals inscribed around their borders.

The wind howled around them as Charles pointed at the giant entrance.

“With a door as massive as that you have to wonder what they keep inside.”

Havoc agreed; the gate wouldn't need to be much larger to fly their shuttle straight through.

“You don't need to shout Charles, the radio will adjust.”

Charles nodded. The princes’ suits made Havoc smile. Charles’s suit was gleaming silver with a rearing red lion on it. Tomas stood off to the other side in a brilliant gold suit with a red griffin on it. Their resplendent suits were in stark contrast to Havoc's active camouflage which mimicked his surroundings. Both lads had insisted on augmenting their suits with an additional cannon, which they hefted proudly as only young men could. Tomas faced outward, sweeping his right arm laterally. Havoc knew the body language. Tomas wanted to shoot something.

Charles shouted again.

“Where are the people that live here? Do you think they're hiding?”

Havoc chuckled. He thought that telling Charles he didn't need to shout for the fourth time in thirty minutes would be a bit nannyish. His receiver leveled the volume so it didn't matter.

Tomas turned to Charles with a look of disgust.

“Stop shouting you fucking moron.”

Karch moved up alongside him. Her dark suit stood half a meter over his, with a reverse articulated joint below her feet like a goat legged satyr.

“Anything?”

Havoc scanned into the blizzard. There didn't appear to be anything here. Well anything that had revealed itself, so far.

“Not yet.”

Karch thumbed back toward the gate.

“We definitely want to open that?”

Havoc glanced over his shoulder. They’d already been waiting a quarter of an hour.

“I’ll check it out.”

Karch nodded.

Havoc stepped forward to join Weaver, who was huddled with Kemensky by a panel to the left of the cavernous entrance.

“This the door you want?”

Weaver nodded, somewhat distracted.

“We think so.”

“Any reason why this one in particular?”

Weaver pointed at one of the ideograms inscribed above the panel.

“We think we have the best chance of opening it. This symbol corresponds to a class of problems in the puzzle tower, not very far down from the top in this case. And this glyph next to it seems to indicate some kind of power or energy level.”

Havoc frowned as he tried to decipher Weaver’s words.

“Not far from the top?”

“The easier puzzles are at the top. This puzzle would seem to correspond to the eightieth row. We've solved those.”

He nodded. Weird but ok.

“And the power level?”

She shrugged as she studied the panel.

“There isn't really a direct translation – try 'signal-power-level-deployed' or something like that. These are Touvenay's words, by the way, and he could talk to you for hours about the challenges of mapping concepts from one language to another one where the basic concepts may not even exist.”

“You can't.”

“Right, you can only approximate.”

As Havoc spoke to Weaver he gently reached back and lifted Charles's cannon to point away from the group in general and Kemensky in particular. Charles cast 'Sorry' to him. ‘Don't worry' he cast back as he nodded toward the center of the Colosseum.

“So how does this door compare with the one in there?”

“The gateway on the obelisk appears to have a much harder problem, in that it comes from much further down the puzzle tower.”

“And the power level at the obelisk door?”

“Much higher.”

“So you like this door more?”

Weaver nodded.

“We think so.”

Havoc considered what he’d heard.

“So do I.”

“Ok.”

“So you want us to drill?”

“No.”

“Blast?”

“No.”

“You got a key somewhere in that suit, Weaver?”

She actually smiled at him.

“Maybe.”

“Oh?”

“We think we should be able to access this puzzle somehow, that's what we're working on.”

He stepped back to let her work.

“Ok.”

Weaver turned back to her huddle with Kemensky, while Fournier and Touvenay contributed from orbit.

From listening, Havoc understood that they were interested in the flat panel that was set below the ideograms. They were suggesting that the species that inhabited plash might place a hand or appendage of some type on the panel to activate it. Havoc didn't like the sound of that at all.

His ideal alien would be peaceful, dim witted and slow moving. Importantly, it would be about the size of a pixie; small, but not so small it was hard to hit. Weaver’s 'hand panel' was a meter wide.

Karch was looking at him. Her line of thinking seemed to be going the same way.

“I hope no one's at home.”

He nodded.

“Knock knock.”

 64. 

Weaver stood in a huddle with Kemensky to one side of the ornate gate, studying what they thought was an access panel.

The panel’s gray surface was streaked with blue and white like marbled granite. Running her gauntlet across it revealed an abrasive texture. She and Kemensky had attached various probes to the panel, examining a variety of phenomena. Their initial anticipation of an early opening had subsided. They had been here for just over an hour and in that time Weaver had been punched to the ground nine times.

Karch marched back and forth with increasing frequency, communicating her escalating boredom. Havoc, on the other hand, was as immobile as the Sphinx. Except for when Weaver gave him an occasional update, he never moved.

Kemensky sighed again. Weaver looked at him sympathetically. Kemensky struggled with interruptions and Karch marching past broke his concentration. She turned and looked at Havoc.

“Could you...”

Havoc rotated his head as he followed Weaver’s gaze. He barked abruptly.

“Karch.”

“What?”

“If you've got an itch, scratch it. Stop moving around. You’re distracting our scientists.”

Karch came to an abrupt halt and turned to stare at Weaver. Weaver tried to look conciliatory.

“Thanks.”

Karch nodded.

“No problem, girl.”

Weaver smiled, pleasantly surprised. Havoc resumed his impersonation of a statue. Weaver turned back to Kemensky.

“I'm getting it again,” Kemensky said.

Weaver reviewed the data generated by the sensor she was holding. Nothing very interesting.

“So each time the panel is touched, when nothing else is touching it or has touched it in the last ten seconds, we get the spike?”

Kemensky nodded.

“Exactly.”

“Hmm.”

Touvenay spoke from orbit, where he and Fournier were reviewing the data alongside them.

“I have an idea.”

The storm interfered on occasion but they were pumping a hefty signal up and down. The other ships would be monitoring their transmissions, though they would have no idea what they said, just their location. Hence Havoc, Mr Paranoid himself, had insisted that she drop a series of relay drones on approach, culminating with one drifting in the atmosphere some four hundred kilometers north of here.

Weaver looked covetously at the mug of coffee in Touvenay’s hand.

“Go on.”

Touvenay wrinkled his nose.

“The ideograms indicate identity – a unique identity, mathematically.”

“Yes.”

“Which we have taken to be the access code.”