Halo: The Cole Protocol (9 page)

CHAPTER

TWELVE

SCYLLION, CHARYBDIS IX

Scyllion burned.

Jeffries lazily swung the Pelican above the tightly clustered skyscrapers of the city, and through patches of billowing, black smoke from burning piles of furniture and barrels on the roads.

“Food riots,” Watanabe said, hanging on to webbing and looking out the back of the Pelican with Keyes. Jeffries had already lowered the ramp for a hot drop.

Keyes walked to the back and looked out. “I never thought I’d see anything like that in the Inner Colonies.”

“Hold tight, sir,” Jeffries shouted back. The Pelican slowly banked around a set of towers.

Watanabe looked out at the random pillars of smoke mingled among the concrete, steel, and mirrored windows of the city. “It started as a corporate mining town. The whole thing was laid out and designed to keep all money in the corporation. You worked for them, paid rent to stay in an apartment they built run by a division of the mining company. You shopped at company-run stores. You traveled on the company line. It is an example that used to be taught in business schools.”

“So what’s happening now?” As Jeffries straightened the Pelican out the city fell away behind them, towers glinting as the sun sunk down behind the city skyline, its orange hues streaking the clouds. Scyllion looked as if it were made of gold due to the sunset filtering through its windows.

“They had a monopoly: they started raising prices dramatically. People became trapped. Once here, the price of living exceeded their company pay, putting them further and further in debt with no way out.

“It became a problem when a rival company tried to get mining rights and was barred by the puppet government the company had funded here on Charybdis IX. So the new company funded dissatisfied and trapped workers back in ’25, hoping to shake things up politically a bit, and Scyllion’s police shot a few of them during a protest march. Since then, Insurrectionists have been a huge problem here. Scyllion’s corporate masters are now spending more money on trying to get everything they can off planet and back to colonies closer to Earth to protect their assets. ONI recommended that the UNSC implement martial law last year.

“We just don’t have the troops and ships to spare,” Watanabe finished.

The Pelican flew over the edges of Scyllion, passing over a long snaking river. Warehouses lined the banks, and large container ships lay at dock next to concrete wharfs.

“Here we are,” Jeffries announced in their earpieces. The Pelican slowed, its engines swiveling to redirect thrust.

They landed on a pad on top of one of the warehouses. Watanabe let go of the webbing and walked down the ramp. Keyes followed him.

The Pelican revved up and lifted off, leaving them on the suddenly quiet rooftop pad.

A woman with long hair and grubby gray overalls stood waiting for them at the stairwell leading down to the warehouse.

“Corinthia Hansen,” Watanabe said. He shook her hand. “Lieutenant Keyes, this is our ONI contact on the ground here. She’s been coordinating tracking the influx of Covenant weapons and trying to get them off the street to be examined and destroyed. She was also responsible for intercepting the Insurrectionist ship.”

“Good to see you, Major Watanabe.” She looked at Keyes. “What’s the Navy here for?”

“Peace of mind. A line to further resources back in orbit if we need it.” Watanabe looked around the pad. “Your report said you had crew uniforms and fifteen agents?”

“Downstairs, in the Hogs. You can change en route, we’re short on time.”

“Why the rush?” Watanabe asked. “I thought we had more time?”

“Yeah, in case you didn’t notice, the city is rioting. It’s only a matter of time before the crowds downtown decide that there might be food or resources out here. The Insurrectionists agree—they’re coming in early to take the guns. So let’s get rolling.”

Keyes raised an eyebrow. In his experience changing plans on the fly added to the potential of things going wrong.

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

SCYLLION WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, CHARYBDIS IX

Civilian Warthogs waited in a line for them on the lower floor of the empty warehouse, as well as three large trucks pulling containers. Hansen had them get in the back of the truck in the middle.

It was full of stacked crates, with just a four-foot empty gap near the doors. Or at least Keyes thought so, until Hansen walked to the wall of crates and pressed her palm against them.

The crates swung aside.

Inside was a fully furnished mobile command center. Screens hung from the walls with information, and ONI agents stood in front of them, murmuring into microphones.

At the back agents in black body armor checked their weapons and eyed Watanabe and Keyes warily.

The ONI mobile command center jerked into motion, and Keyes grabbed a wall.

Hansen pulled a gun out from her waistband and handed it to one of the agents. “We’re hoping we can help you out, Watanabe, and get them to give up what system the weapons came from. But I’m pretending to be crew of that ship, so it’s dicey. Our main goal is to give these Innie creeps the crates, and then see where in the city they end up. Give them a few days to talk around the crates, give us some intelligence, then we can roll in and bust them. Because the last thing we need are the mobs that are out there right now getting their hands on Covenant weapons.”

She walked away from them both to go check on one of the monitors.

Keyes leaned over to Watanabe. “I get the feeling you’re not exactly wanted here. They seem to think they’ve got the whole thing figured out.”

Watanabe shrugged dramatically. “Between your crew and these agents, my not being wanted around places seems to be a character failing of mine, I’m sure.”

Hansen looked back down the center as Keyes laughed. She waved them over. “Here’s an example of the product.”

She picked up a hefty Covenant plasma rifle and gave it to Watanabe. Unlike the utilitarian, industrial human weapons, the Covenant device was smooth and aerodynamic, almost organic. The plasma rifle consisted of what looked like two large semiautomatic weapons welded together: one on top, the other beneath. The pair of curved bodies were mated via the trigger guard, and then at the front with a second guard.

“They’re not quite right,” Keyes said. “What’s that on the side?”

From what Keyes knew in briefings, Covenant plasma rifles had a small temperature gauge on the side. This had been replaced with a counter with the numerals “380” glowing on the tiny display. Someone had already tested the weapon.

“Good eye,” Hansen said. “Yes, these guns let you know how many shots are left. There is also this.”

She reached over and took the bulky weapon back from Watanabe. A quick, firm press near the front of the plasma rifle caused the casing to click, and a tiny targeting reticule popped up.

“What we have here,” Hansen said, “is a Covenant weapon that seems modified for human usage. The counter, you’ll note, doesn’t use any form of Covenant numbering, but rather our own.”

The truck ground to a halt.

“The Insurrectionists are already here,” someone reported from a monitor.

“Good.” Hansen tapped her earpiece. “Everyone knows their places, let’s get it done.”

She walked out the back with the plasma rifle in hand.

One of the agents at the monitors waved them over. He pulled a stool out from the wall. “We can hear what Captain Hansen there is saying, and see through a buttonhole camera.”

Keyes and Watanabe stood by the agent’s shoulder. “What’s your name, son?” Keyes asked.

The agent glanced back. “Smith, Josh Smith, sir.”

“Good to meet you, Smith.” On the screen Hansen moved close to a trio of men wearing simple gray coveralls, just like herself. The man in front had a military cut, and scarred cheeks from some sort of explosion, and was whip-thin. “Who are we looking at here?”

Smith tapped another monitor lower down on the wall to reveal a set of files pertaining to the operation. “The man in front, that’s Jason Kincaide, a known Insurrectionist. Mid-level sort of guy. The other two are just heavies of his.”

Hansen approached Kincaide, and they shook hands. The sting was on.

But in the back of the unit, someone held up a hand. “We’re getting reports of disturbances four blocks away. Can someone bring up the live sat imagery?”

One of the larger screens flickered. Keyes walked away from Smith’s station and looked at it.

There were thousands of people milling about.

“I can get street cam shots,” Smith said. He minimized the video of Hansen and Kincaide meeting each other and exchanging code words, and pulled up a small window showing a street corner.

The rioters had a large battering ram, made from a chopped-down tree. They were smashing in a door to a warehouse while the crowd shouted encouragement.

“This could cause a problem,” Watanabe muttered.

“Maybe,” Smith said. “We’ll see if they keep moving down. Anyone call this in?”

“Yeah, but they’re more focused on downtown,” came the reply from another agent. “This a low-priority area.”

“If they were a military branch we could have over-ridden that,” Smith muttered. “Shit. They’re moving at us.”

The mood changed inside from operational calm to nervousness. The mob could be seen on several screens as more doors were kicked in or smashed open.

“We’re going to have to call it off.” Smith tapped another screen. “Hansen, we’ve got a mob breathing down on us; we’re not getting out of here if we delay things. Nod once if you’re going to break it off and jet, or twice if you think we should round these jokers up as well.”

Hansen straightened, and then nodded twice.

“Go, go, go!” someone shouted from the back.

A ramp dropped from the side of the container and hit the ground, kicking up dust. The ONI agents leapt out into the warehouse, rifles up and aimed at Kincaide and his men.

Kincaide shook his head, but kept his hands up near his chest. “You sons of—”

One of the agents hit him on the side of the head with the butt of his battle rifle and the Insurrectionist dropped to his knees.

“This won’t be the end,” Kincaide shouted. “There are more where I came from. We’ll find you in your homes, at night, and kill you there. We won’t stop until this world is ours, as it rightfully should be.”

He got another jab in the head for his shouting. A trickle of blood ran down his temple, and he looked dazed. Within seconds, they had his arms zip-tied behind his back, and the three Insurrectionists were shoved quickly into the trailer.

“Let’s
move
it!” Smith yelled at everyone. “They’re about a hundred yards up the street.”

“You heard the man—pull that ramp back in, let’s roll,”

Hansen shouted. She walked toward Watanabe. “Well, I guess that’s that.”

“I’m sorry.” Watanabe stepped aside to let her stalk back down the center of the trailer. The agents up front pulled the ramp back up and dogged it shut with a loud slam. Engines belched as they started up.

“The damn situation is what’s messed up, Watanabe. We’re all pulling overtime and doing our duty. It’s next to impossible to run ops while the city is falling apart. How are we going to face the Covenant when we don’t even have our own crap in gear?”

Keyes grabbed ahold of the back of Smith’s chair as the trailer jerked into motion. “They always used to say that if an alien menace threatened humanity, we’d put aside all our differences, band together to face it as one.”

Watanabe shook his head sadly. “They were wrong. When you look at wars, even ones where it looks like people were united, there are always factions and jockeying. At the close of the Rain Forest Wars Neo-Friedenists turned against hardliner Friedenists in Delambre when the UNSC got in close. The Neos hated UN control, but they tried to then negotiate for a surrender that left them in some sort of power. You read Elias Carver’s work?”

Keyes nodded. “Carver’s a pessimist.”

“Hundreds of religions. Competing corporate-backed colonies. Political persuasions of every imaginable variety breed in the shadows, and there is a lingering resentment at the UN for trying to keep all the colonies under an Earth government. The colonies, Lieutenant Keyes, are a powder keg. The Covenant advancing on us doesn’t make the mixture any less volatile. And the enemy can always try to exploit that, if they have really good intelligence. That’s why these guns are worrying. They’re a fuse, Keyes.”

The ONI convoy drove through the giant warehouse doors.

“I’d give anything to know what factions exist among the Covenant,” Keyes said.

“Yeah, but they’re aliens, and we can’t assume they think or work like us, because so far—” Watanabe started, then turned. Keyes heard it too, a jetlike roaring swoosh.

The front of the command trailer erupted in a fireball. The whole unit lifted off its wheels, and slammed back down to the ground, grinding into the road as it came to a slow stop. Keyes pitched forward, slamming into a chair.

“Get down!” Hansen shouted. “RPGs!”

Fire raged in front of Keyes, licking its way up the walls. A monitor exploded from the heat, shooting glass shards everywhere. He crawled back toward Watanabe, who had pulled his sidearm out and was looking back down at the door leading out.

Someone on the other side of the flames fired a gun three times.

“Was that us or an Innie?” Keyes crawled over to Watanabe.

Another RPG struck the trailer, blowing in the side of the wall. Burning fragments struck Smith, who started screaming as he was enveloped in flames.

Keyes ran forward and threw the man to the floor, getting him to try and roll the fire out. The flames kept him from getting near, and after another second of screaming, the charred Smith finally slowed, whimpered, and died next to the tiny flames he’d started on the carpet.

Watanabe and Hansen hauled Keyes to his feet. Watanabe kicked at a weakened section of the wall that had been melted by the explosion. It caved outward, and they jumped into the street.

A large crowd of rioters watched the burning trailer, not sure what to do next.