Redemption Protocol (Contact) (40 page)

“Suicide,” Novosa confirmed.

Havoc shook his head. His mind reeled.

“What a waste.”

Goddamn it. Chaucer had killed himself. Contamination, sabotage, suicide. At this rate they'd all be gone in a week. Had he been too hard on Chaucer? Was it him that had pushed Chaucer over the edge?

“Move out of the way, Kemensky.”

Havoc mantled up into the shaft of the alien ship. The others gathered in a semicircle, like penguins watching what happens to the first diver off the ice floe.

Havoc marched up the passage into the alien craft.

“If I'm not out in five minutes, run.”

Kemensky turned to the others.

“Do you think he meant run after him or away?”

Weaver shouted after him.

“In after you or away?”

“In, of course,” Tomas said.

“I think he meant away,” Charles said.

“Away!”

 68. 

Havoc piloted their shuttle up to the pyramid.

The Aral ice ocean rolled away beneath them, clouds swirling above the sheets of ice interspersed with pools and wide expanses of slush. Heavy red mist clung stubbornly to the surface, scarcely dissipating into the clouds above. In places the ice was ruptured and vents disgorged billowing clouds of fulvous gas that spilled over the mist like oil on water.

Touvenay had called it the Aral ice ocean – he continued to name Plash's geographical features at a prodigious rate. 'Names are handles', Touvenay had said, 'though we must not let the convenience of naming interfere with the uniqueness of seeing.'

Midway across the ocean, a series of peaks reared out of the ice. Touvenay had named the jagged ridgeline the Dragon's Tail. When the vertiginous islands rose ahead of them, Charles, apparently with some prodding from Tomas, broached the topic of entering the pyramid.

“I would be happy to lead us into the pyramid.”

Havoc nodded.

“I appreciate that, Charles, but if you don't mind I’ll take care of it.”

“I know what I'm doing.”

“I don't doubt it,” Havoc lied.

“I'm twenty years old. I'm not a boy.”

Havoc smiled.

“We're about to do something that most twenty year old soldiers aren't very good at Your Highness.”

“What do you mean?”

“Running away. We're trying to avoid a fight.”

Charles stuck out his chin.

“I heard you say yourself that you would rather we destroyed the Guardians.”

Havoc made a face.

“Yes, but that was from orbit while I drank a cup of tea.”

Charles recoiled a little.

“But where's the glory in that?”

Havoc blinked.

“Glory?”

Charles nodded.

“Honor.”

Havoc twisted to face him.

“Is this you talking or your brother Tomas?”

“Half-brother,” Tomas said.

“Half-brother, then.”

“A victory without danger is a triumph without glory,” Charles said.

Havoc nodded.

“Exactly. Sounds perfect.”

“You can't mean that?” Charles said.

Wow, Havoc thought, we are really not on the same page here.

“Charles, my perfect battle is a battle avoided. If necessary, I will settle for a good battle––”

The princes nodded knowingly without understanding a word.

“––which I consider to be vaporizing my enemy before they know the battle has started.”

Tomas choked.

“What? The road to glory is paved with sacrifice and death. Onward, and never mind the cost––”

Havoc raised an eyebrow.

“––in human blood and sacrifice. Yes. Where did you hear that?”

“On the ship.”

Havoc felt surprised.

“On our ship?”

“Mr Tyburn.”

Havoc absorbed this. He resolved to find out more about Tyburn if he ever got back from this mission. Tyburn must have known Forge when he was in Strike, despite his instinctive denial on the
Intrepid
.

He glanced back at Tomas.

“And you think that's a good idea, blood and sacrifice?”

Both princes nodded confidently.

Havoc muttered to himself.

“Into the valley of death rode the six hundred...”

Charles raised his chin defiantly.

“I'm not afraid. There's nothing we're planning that I can't do.”

Havoc nodded.

“I agree. We're not planning anything that can't be done by a twenty year old... who has twenty five years of experience.”

Novosa laughed. Charles looked offended. Havoc could tell Charles was marshaling his arguments.

“Look, Charles, I don't doubt your courage. We’ll look at what you can do once we get established. But please, for the moment, let me do my job. Deal?”

Charles considered this and nodded.

Tomas sneered at Charles.

“Hah. He knows you’re not up to it. He just won’t tell you the truth.”

Havoc looked at Tomas.

“I have told him the truth. I wouldn't trust either of you to lead until I know you can look after the team.”

Tomas scowled at him.

“Look after the team? You sound like an old dog that’s lost his courage. We are bold and you are bitter.”

Havoc laughed.

“There are old dogs and there are bold dogs, Tomas, but there are no old, bold dogs.”

“I wouldn't want to get old if it meant being as scared as you.”

Havoc chuckled.

“Well there's a lot to be scared of, Tomas. We all get scared, trust me.”

“Bullshit.”

Charles appealed to Havoc.

“I'm not scared. Let me prove it!”

Havoc felt like a harassed parent.

“You'll get your chance. Just not yet.”

“When?”

“Not yet.”

Novosa laughed.

“Shut up and let daddy drive.”

The princes slumped back in their seats.

Havoc reflected on the exchange. Charles might not be a fan of mindless slaughter but he still had a lot to prove. He glanced back.

“Are you post-Krypteja, Charles?”

Both princes looked a little shocked at the question.

“Kry-what?” Kemensky said.

Tomas turned to Kemensky proudly.

“The Krypteja is a coming of age ritual for the male members of our Royal Family in line for the throne. It’s our rite of passage into manhood and princeship.”

Charles gazed downward.

“And no, I have not completed it yet.”

Tomas smiled with his eyes bright.

“And so you are not yet a man.”

Charles pursed his lips. He didn’t reply.

Touvenay spoke from orbit, his tone neutral rather than judgmental.

“It really is exceedingly barbaric.”

Tomas’s eyes narrowed.

“Different societies in the Alliance value different things. My father, our Exalted Emperor, feels the Krypteja is an essential part of a Prince growing into manhood by demonstrating the qualities necessary to rule. He is right.”

Touvenay’s tone was as mild as his words were barbed.

“It says more about the kind of society your Emperor would rule over.”

Tomas’s eyes flashed.

“You wouldn't––”

Havoc glanced back as Tomas cut off in mid-retort. Havoc assumed Charles and Tomas were casting to each other. Tomas turned away with a resentful expression. Charles answered Touvenay in a dignified tone.

“You are entitled to your opinion, of course, and to express it in our Alliance.”

Kemensky leaned forward, fascinated.

“What does it comprise, this Kry...?”

Tomas turned back to him.

“It is a test for princeship. The men of the Neuworld Empire are either Citizens or Helots. One night in every two years the candidate princes go out unarmed into our capital city of Staffron. We have to kill ten Helot men by dawn. If you do not kill ten Helots, you are not meant to come back at all.”

Tomas looked sideways at Charles as he said the last part.

Kemensky frowned.

“Why would anyone be a Helot?”

Tomas sneered.

“One achieves citizenship by birth or enrollment in the military. If you are not born a Citizen, and you don’t enlist, then you are soft and weak, kept safe only through the strength of our great Empire, and consequently not worthy of citizenship.”

“Have you done your Krypteja?” Kemensky said.

Tomas nodded.

“Three years ago. I was Primum Maximus, the first to return to the palace.”

Kemensky raised his eyebrows.

“My God.”

Tomas spoke by rote.

“To lead is to choose and to choose well, one must be ruthless.”

Kemensky looked at Charles.

“Do you have to do it?”

Charles looked dismayed while Tomas grinned gleefully.

“If he has not done it within four years of coming of age, he will himself be sent into Staffron and hunted by the others. It will bring a great shame on his family.”

“It hasn't happened yet!” Charles said.

Tomas sneered.

“Yet.”

“I can do it.”

“Facta, non verba,” Tomas said.
Deeds, not words
.

“But what about the mission time?” Kemensky said.

Tomas gave Charles a knowing look.

“Time on diplomatic missions does not count.”

Havoc glanced over his shoulder at Charles. Charles stared back blankly. Maybe Charles really did have something to prove, Havoc thought, either to himself or someone else. If Tomas hadn't been sitting on Charles’s shoulder, Havoc might have asked him.

Tomas looked at his half-brother disdainfully.

“You'll have to find another way to prove yourself.”

“Why not prove you can live through this?” Havoc said.

Charles stared straight ahead. He didn’t reply.

Novosa glanced at Havoc.

> Will Tomas put Charles up to something stupid?

Havoc nodded.

> Thinking the same thing.

> Can you slave their suits?

> No, because they're diplomatic emissaries.

> They're kids.

> I'm with you.

They flew on, the expressions on the princes’ faces indicating they were communicating by cast. Charles looked hunted and Tomas looked bullish.

“We're close,” Novosa said.

The pyramid reared up over the horizon. It grew rapidly, dominating the landscape and everyone's thoughts.

Ahead of them were the three guardians. They knew they were dangerous. They just didn't know how dangerous.

Unknown capability. Unknown lethality.

 69. 

Weaver felt guilty about sending Kemensky to the pyramid with Havoc, but she also felt like she might be saving him from harm. They didn't yet understand the consequences of a failed attempt to access one of the Plash artifacts, but it was conceivable, given the 'power level' concept, that it could hurt or kill.

They'd practically had to drag Kemensky out of the alien ship. He was besotted with it. It was, Weaver conceded, incredible. They’d gone into the circular central cabin when Havoc had called to them. The apparent size and physiology of the creature that would use the craft was fascinating and more than a little intimidating. The access level on the panel inside the ship was of a spectacularly higher order of difficulty than the code she'd decrypted at the main entrance. Not only that but the power level it signified was immense. It was too dangerous to contemplate at their current level of understanding. Despite that, Weaver thought Kemensky might have tried it given half a chance. Kemensky had looked like he was going to throw a tantrum when Havoc, citing the diminishing night time, finally grabbed Kemensky’s suit collar and marched him out for the flight to the pyramid.

She thought about the mechanism she’d used to open the gate. Despite the tremendous scientific advances made by humanity, their understanding of consciousness was incomplete. Like the distinction between art and pornography, it was a ‘you know it when you see it’ type of concept. A workable scientific definition with measurable characteristics was impossible to specify. The possibility that a Plash species could not only define consciousness, but identify an instance of one, had profound implications for their understanding of concepts such as consciousness and the soul. Was a soul
measurable
? These were scientific questions to Weaver but she knew that the established religions, not to mention the new ones that would inevitably spring up out of these developments, would be equally enthralled.