Redemption Protocol (Contact) (12 page)

“I hope so.”

There was never going to be a good time, Havoc decided. He needed to get it done.

“Look, there's something––”

She jumped into the air.

“Sorry! I didn't mean to get all morbid!”

He tried again.

“No, don't worry. Look––”

“No, you look.”

She said it in an inviting way, giving him an enticing glance, bouncing in front of him in her little outfit. She spoke, rhythmically, to her bounces.

“It’s just like physics. Keep looking and every now and again,” – she turned and jogged away, the view was great – “you get a glimpse of something incredible!”

He couldn’t help laughing as she vanished, reentered her sim and jogged across the court.

He shouted over the net.

“Look, Weaver––”

She shouted happily as she launched a ball over the net.

“Look out you mean! We have to get this finished in time for a shower. Some of us have to give a briefing you know!”

He gave up for now. She was a force of nature, this girl.

It wasn't long before, match complete, she popped into his sim again. She looked at him invitingly.

“You want to take a shower?”

He was dumbfounded. His mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“Er...”

“Cos there are some in here as well as in the home hab.”

“Uh...”

She looked mock sternly at him.

“Oh, Havoc, you didn't think I meant...?”

He sputtered.

“No. No.”

“I mean, what kind of girl would...”

His face burned.

“No. Of course not. No...”

“Great. Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

She pulled her hand through her hair one last time and then her green eyes, toned legs, enchanting smile and cute butt sashayed toward the exit. At the door she flipped up one side of her skirt to reveal a final glimpse, in the full and certain knowledge that he was watching. At the same time, she made the crowd roar and a loud wolf-whistle ring out. Then she was gone.

He sat on the floor laughing, happy and helpless, feeling for all the world like a pool of melted butter.

 17. 

Havoc showered, changed and felt his hormone levels renormalize – meaning that he no longer felt like a rutting stag in the springtime. He entered the Hub Hab feeling refreshed and optimistic, the best he’d felt in a long time. He wandered over to the counter to get a drink. Fournier stood there, looking agitated.

“You ok?”

“My coffee. Any minute.”

Havoc gave Fournier's arm a reassuring pat then moved off, having just spotted Weaver walking across the room.

“Hi.”

She hadn't seen him.

“Weaver.”

Her eyes flashed with anger as she hissed at him.

“Don't you talk to me.”

He recoiled at the aggression in her voice. She kept walking. Not thinking, he reached out for her arm.

“Hey.”

She wrenched her arm away.

“Don’t touch me! I know who you are, you butcher! I can't believe you didn't tell me!”

She shouted the last part, her voice almost hysterical.

Havoc felt a blurring dislocation from reality. Streaks of white noise filled his sound and vision. He'd taken so much shit in his life that he'd got used to it. It was like static on the radio, he tuned it out. He hadn't known anything different for years. But this
was
different. He'd just had a taste of being a normal person. He'd let his guard down to Weaver and made himself vulnerable. Big mistake.

He froze, breathing deeply, trying to stabilize. His face set in a grimace and his head nodded back and forth, going into some kind of regression. He couldn't help it. All the shit he'd taken for years. All that had been taken from him. A dam burst inside him. Fracture lines rippled out across his face. What was happening to him?

He turned away and took a couple of dazed steps. The tiny flicker of joy he'd felt earlier perished. He struggled to hold himself together. He could feel the eyes on his back as he focused on his breathing. Leveque approached him as he faced the wall.

“You want to talk?”

He glanced at the woman who not two hours earlier had screamed in his face. He found it hard to speak. Trying to open his mouth to talk was like trying to part the jaws of a trap. His words came out syllable by syllable, each under tremendous pressure.

“Are you serious?”

“I might be able to help.”

Leveque’s eyes gave her away. She was feeling guilty and probably hating herself for it. He turned away. The tension across him was too much; he felt like a cable cross loaded in a way it wasn’t designed to bear.

He hit the button on the wall and stepped into the self reporting room.

~    ~    ~

Havoc stepped into a diary room for the first time in his life. The door shut behind him and his world imploded. His fucked up, dead end, hamster on a treadmill life collapsed around him. He could feel hot tears rolling down his face. What was happening to him? He couldn't stop. His head rocked back and forth and he closed his eyes, trying to block it out. What could he do? Guilt and remorse washed over him. He had been lined up and royally fucked and no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't outrun it. He
had
massacred all those people. He
was
guilty. This was his whole life.

He stood quietly, breathing and flexing his hands, occasionally leaking involuntary tears.

~    ~    ~

Abbott considered what he'd just seen. He looked at Stephanie.

“You think he can handle that?”

Stephanie reached for a drink.

“Yes.”

Abbott nodded.

“You're not worried at all?”

Stephanie looked around for a place to dispose of a teabag.

“No.”

“So, he'll be fine?”

Stephanie smiled. Abbott was clearly communicating to his Chief Adviser that he wanted this question fully engaged with and answered comprehensively. She stopped, turned and gave her boss what he needed to hear.

“He'll be fine. He's tough. He has, despite what happened on Jemlevi and I can't explain that, got a strong moral code. He will pull himself together, walk back out and you will never know, for the entire rest of this mission, that what just happened, happened. And he is absolutely, definitely, not going to go nuts and blow up this ship.”

Abbott nodded.

“Good. Especially the last part.”

~    ~    ~

Havoc stood for a few minutes. He got his breathing back to normal. He felt his eyes dry. In place of that flicker of joy was his usual slow burn of controlled anger. He was who he was and he'd done what he'd done.

He couldn’t outrun his past. There was no way out. His false hope had hurt him more than he would have anticipated. He’d made a mistake in trying to step outside his fate.

He would find Claudius Forge and kill him. It wouldn’t be a life filled with joy but it gave him stability and purpose. He would play his part for Darkwood, complete this mission and get back on track. Sort out his finances and move on. He took a deep breath and pressed the button.

The door slid open and he stepped into the Hub Hab. People looked over at him; some furtively, some openly. Havoc didn't care.

He was relaxed and back in control.

~    ~    ~

Abbott thought Havoc looked balanced, even relaxed, as he reentered the room. The diary room had obviously done its job. He looked at Stephanie and nodded.

She raised her eyebrows back at him. 'I told you so', they said.

~    ~    ~

Havoc was approaching the counter when Ambassador Abbott stepped forward and raised his hand, inviting him over. As a convicted genocidal terrorist, Havoc braced himself for a rough ride.

Abbott was an imposing man, as befitted the Chief Ambassador of one of the most powerful civilizations in Hspace. Abbott's silver eyes protruded more than looked normal, or even comfortable, and his lion's mane of gold hair was even more impressive in person. Havoc wondered if Abbott had any say over the reward on his head. He figured he might as well get straight down to brass tacks.

“I can't unring the bell, Mr Abbott.”

Abbott smiled, stepped round to face in the same direction as him and put his arm around his shoulders.

“John. Can I call you John?”

Havoc looked at Abbott's arm, feeling both hesitant and wary. Abbott was probably the highest capability on the ship; top end extraordinary level, maybe even an X8 or X9. Nosebleed level.

“Sure.”

“John, on this mission you are a part of Mr Darkwood's team. A valued part. I'm confident that you will do all you can to make this mission a success and keep all of us,” – Abbott gestured in a circle with his glass – “safe.”

Havoc blinked at the impressive lack of accusation, grandstanding or any aggression at all. It struck him that Abbott probably had to deal with a lot of mass murderers while sporting his winning smile. He was still grateful for the effort.

“Thank you, Mr Abbott.”

Abbott dropped his arm.

“And I believe you know my excellent Chief Adviser, Miss Stephanie Calthorpe.”

Havoc and Stephanie gazed at each other. It was a journey back in time, to a different world.

“You look well, John.”

“You too, Stephanie.”

“Still a big hit with the ladies, I see.”

A clear reference to his recent fracas with Weaver. Havoc noticed Abbott looking at him questioningly.

“A misunderstanding. It won't be a problem.”

There was plenty of nodding and convivial noises. Ah, how things were handled at the highest levels of society. This meeting had gone far better than Havoc had expected. Abbott seemed to be a wonderfully sociable lion.

Miss Bergeron and a man wearing a gray designer suit approached them. They looked both excited and intimidated. No need, Havoc thought, looking at the friendly lion.

“Mr Chief Ambassador, my name is Dax Humberstone and this is Amy Bergeron. We're––”

“Lawyers?” Abbott said, the inflection of his voice subtly different from before.

Humberstone smiled, encouraged.

“Why, yes.”

Miss Bergeron smiled too. It was all so friendly over here, Havoc thought.

Abbott’s voice was flat.

“I hate lawyers.”

Abbott’s expression was reasonable and his tone of voice not unreasonable, but Havoc thought his eyes said
I'm really not joking
. Much agitation in the legal camp, he saw.

Humberstone looked confused.

“But weren't you a lawyer?”

Abbott nodded gravely.

“I have to live with that every day.”

Oh dear, Havoc thought.

“Do you know how many times I've had an agreement that could save lives, stop conflict, improve quality of life and then people like you have worried it to pieces? Two berths that might otherwise be occupied by scientists or philosophers are instead
wasted
on the worst humanity has to offer.”

Humberstone frowned.

“But there could be treaties required with respect to trade, borders, transit, anything.”

Abbott shook his head.

“If I pray for anything, I pray for a species that has never heard of the law as a profession.”

Bergeron looked startled.

“Species?”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow. Abbott exhaled.

“They’ll know soon enough.”

Bergeron looked upset.

“I didn’t fly all this way in these awful conditions to have my contribution belittled. I’m quite upset by that, actually.”

Abbott’s eyes glazed over.

“Please go away.”

The two lawyers beat a retreat, Bergeron looking hurt and Humberstone looking bitter. Abbott shook his head then brightened as two young looking men approached them.

“Ah, Princes, please join us. John, this is Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Tomas Jaeger and Prince Charles Jaeger, both of the Neuworld Empire.”

Tomas, the elder of the two princes, raised his chin while Charles nodded at Havoc. Neither offered to shake hands. Tomas was slightly taller than Charles, quite a feat considering the extra four inches that Charles gained from his bouffant of curly hair. Tomas also had, unusually, a thin scar that curved from his left temple to beneath his eye.

Both lads stared at Stephanie. Charles looked captivated. Tomas leered so openly that Havoc wouldn't have been surprised if he dribbled saliva onto the floor. The effect was all too familiar.