The December Protocol

by Devin Hanson

  Her screams were choked off as she struggled to get her breath back. Her other wrist was seized and wrenched up behind her back painfully high. A single hand wrapped around both her wrists, far too strong for her to pull free. His fingers felt like iron, digging painfully into her as he hauled her up.

  “Fucking bitch shocked me!”

  Motion surged toward Angeline and a fist slammed into her stomach. Sickening pain washed through her and she retched, bringing up the soup that she had just eaten. She would have fallen but for the hand wrapped tight around her wrists.

  “Knock it off, Adams. Don’t be a sore loser. You had your chance for the collar, but you fucked it up. I caught her now.”

  Angeline was dazed. Her shoulders shrieked at her and sour bile filled her mouth. Vaguely she was aware of the escalators, not five paces away. She coughed and took a sobbing, shuddering breath. Tears were running down her face, carving tracks through the blood and powder coating her.

  She was swung around and pulled through the powder. There was no strength in her legs to hold her weight and her feet dragged. Behind her, she saw the two policemen, their red blood glistening brilliantly on the white powder.

  In a tumbled pile, the workers and other civilians lay, bleeding copiously from multiple gunshot wounds. As Angeline was dragged out of the plaza, she realized there was nobody left alive to tell the tale. Fifteen men and women were dead in the plaza, and her freedom was gone once more.

  “Is she even still alive?”

  Angeline lay on the floor. Her arms were behind her, zip ties binding her elbows and wrists together. Another zip tie bound her ankles together. The plastic strips dug into her skin and cut off her circulation. She couldn’t feel her hands any more.

  Her mouth tasted foul. Distantly, she was aware of pain throbbing: in her foot, in her stomach, in her shoulders. She wanted to move, to ease the pain and try and get some circulation back, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She had tried her hardest, done everything in her power to escape. It just wasn’t enough. There was no hope for her now. If they didn’t kill her right away, they would watch her like hawks.

  A man leaned down in front of her, waving his hand before her eyes. She blinked and after a moment, strained her eyes to focus. He grunted and stood up. “Do you always damage your captives this badly?”

  Angeline heard someone spit followed by a warm impact against her cheek. The saliva rolled down her jaw and across her neck, leaving a cold trail behind it. “You know how many of my men are dead because of her?”

  She shuddered in revulsion and her stomach squirmed, threatening to empty itself again. She tried to twist her shoulder enough to wipe away the saliva but her hands were bound too tightly. Pain flared in her shoulders and she moaned involuntarily. Tears welled and she gave up. She didn’t have the energy to even cry properly. She felt like if she started, it would continue endlessly until she finally died.

  “I hardly think she’s a threat now. Her hands are turning blue.”

  Hands rolled Angeline over and fresh pain raced through her shoulders. Her arms felt like they were going to pull out of their sockets.

  “Stop, Marcus. I won’t tell you again.”

  “Oh, fuck off, Anton. I’m just cutting the tie on her elbows. If you’re so worried, why don’t you put in her a cage until we’re ready to move?”

  “We don’t have time. We’re only here until Dr. Chung finishes packing.”

  “How do you expect to move the girl? We can’t just lead her on a leash through the cluster.”

  “Fine, put her in a crate.”

  There was the buzz of a radio and a crackle of speech that Angeline couldn’t make out.

  “Shit.” Anton’s footsteps grew distant. He shouted back, “Marcus, you’re responsible for the girl. We have company!”

  A door slammed.

  “Fucking dick.”

  Angeline felt cold metal against her arm, and then the zip tie holding her elbows together parted with a pop. The sudden release of tension made her arms flop open. She cried out in pain as abused muscles suddenly shifted.

  “Come on, girl. Time to get in your box.”

  She felt arms circle her waist. They were thick with muscle, but it wasn’t the same defined muscle as Min had. These arms were thick only because the owner used to live on Earth. He tried to pick her up, and Angeline let herself go limp and thought heavy thoughts.

  “Ugh. Damn, girl. You’re taller than I am. I can’t just carry you.”

  Angeline felt a wary thread of hope. Whoever this Marcus was, he seemed like an idiot. And he was sympathetic to her pain. She could use that, perhaps.

  “My feet,” Angeline groaned, “my feet hurt so much. I can’t walk on them!”

  Marcus hesitated. He wasn’t buying it. Angeline wasn’t much of an actor, but fortunately she didn’t have to try very hard to sound hurt and lost. She let some of the pain and despair of the last few weeks choke her voice, and thought of the policeman shot in the back of the head. Tears rolled freely down her face and she curled up, trying to make herself look small.

  The man held out for almost a full thirty seconds before his will broke and he cursed to himself. He held the knife under her nose threateningly. “I’m going to cut your ankles free. But any funny business and I’ll be right behind you. I’ll stab you before you have the chance to do anything, understand?”

  Angeline nodded, trying not to look too happy about it. Elation soared within her and she ducked her head, hiding behind her tangled hair, not trusting her face to stay sad. Marcus leaned down and cut through the zip tie around her ankles.

  “Okay, get up.”

  “I just need a moment. I can’t feel my feet. Please,” Angeline cowered as if she expected Marcus to hit her. “Only a minute.”

  “This better not be a trick,” Marcus snarled.

  Angeline shook her head. She watched him through the curtain of her hair, studying him. He was short, not even six feet tall. While he had broad shoulders and thick wrists compared to a Mars-born, he also had a general softness about him. There was none of the ripcord strength Min had, no defined musculature or surety of movement. She didn’t doubt that Min could have picked her up and carried her with one hand, while Marcus had struggled to just get her off the ground.

  Feeling began to return to her feet and she flexed her toes. Pins and needles burned along her soles and she tapped her feet against the ground, trying to hurry the process. She groaned in pain, mostly for Marcus’ benefit.

  She was beginning to feel stronger. Her wrists were still bound behind her back, but her legs were free. Five minutes ago, she had been on the brink of total apathetic failure. Now, she felt like she could take Marcus on, hands bound or not.

  Her feet had stopped stinging so she rolled over onto her stomach and made a big show of struggling to pull herself to her feet, but not having the strength to do it. Marcus stood back for a moment before lending her a hand and pulling her to her feet. Angeline swayed and would have fallen if Marcus hadn’t grabbed her again.

  “They really did a number on you, didn’t they,” Marcus muttered.

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. She deliberately stubbed her injured toe and hot pain stabbed through her. She groaned, not having to fake it, and leaned heavily on Marcus’ arm.

  “Let’s get you to a crate. I’ll cut your wrists free and you can rest there. I’d put you in a cage, but Anton is right. There’s no time.”

  Angeline let Marcus half-carry her out of the room. In the distance, she heard shouting and the thump of gunfire. Marcus turned his head in that direction, worry on his face.

  “I’m scared, Marcus,” she said.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said firmly. “I’ll protect you.”

  Angeline smiled beneath the curtain of her hair. Marcus dragged her onward and she let herself be pulled along, though she leaned on him as much as possible, making every step an arduous task. She thought about attacking him, but he stil
l had the knife in his hands. With her hands bound and without a weapon, she didn’t like her chances. Patiently, she bided her time. Marcus had said he would cut her hands free. There would be an opportunity there.

  Marcus pulled her through a doorway and into the room with the cages. The bodies against the wall caught her attention and she cried out involuntarily as she recognized Adora. The other girl had died fighting. She had died free. That was more than Angeline could say for herself.

  A tug on her arm pulled her around and she saw the crate against one of the walls. If she let herself be put inside a crate, that would be the end. Wherever she came out, Marcus wouldn’t be the one in control of her. They would never let her be free again.

  This was her last chance.

  Marcus held her by the elbow and lifted the lid of the crate up. It gaped open at her and she felt a thrill of fear go through her. That crate meant death for her.

  She let herself sag downward. She didn’t quite fall to her knees, but it was a near thing. Marcus caught her elbow before she went all the way down and held her up. “I’m going to cut your bonds,” he said. “I want you to get into the crate and lay down after I do. Do you understand?”

  Angeline nodded. Marcus was behind her, so he couldn’t see her face. If he could have see her look of furious determination, he would never have cut her hands free. But he didn’t, and the cool of his knife ran alongside her wrist. It hitched for a moment, and then Angeline’s hands came loose.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Press conference on 21 December, 2130, two days before the U.N. was to meet and hear testimony from Dr. Womack.

  “Dr. Womack! You’re going to have your first formal debate with Dr. Everard on Saturday. How do you think it will go?”

  “Dr. Everard is a brilliant scientist and a humanitarian of the first class. It will be an honor to debate with her and discuss the future of our treatments. I’m confident that the officials listening to the debate will come to only one conclusion: the Womack Process is not a danger to society. There is too much that is solved by it to consider banning it. Cancer, Parkinson’s Disease, heart disease, organ failure, just to name a few, and let’s not forget old age.” Dr. Womack winks and grins.

  “And what of the allegations that you stole the research from Dr. Everard?”

  Dr. Womack’s comfortable smile fades and he scowls at the collected journalists. “Who told you that? It’s nonsense. Dr. Everard released her study to the general public. Look, I understand people are upset. But it’s not something you can blame my treatment for. If someone gets drunk and runs a pedestrian over in a car, you don’t blame Ford for it. The Womack Process is the only way all humans are guaranteed a life that goes on forever. Criminals kidnapping children and murdering them is not something I would ever condone. What do I look like, some kind of monster?”

  Min Yang pushed open the door to Dr. Lenbroke’s apartment cautiously. The apartment looked as if Dr. Lenbroke had left for work and had simply forgotten to lock the door behind her.

  “What are we looking for?” Ruu asked, shutting the door behind them.

  “I’m not sure. We need some way to figure out where the kidnappers have their operation.”

  “I don’t think the doctor would have it posted on her fridge,” Ruu grinned.

  Min glared at her. “I’m not looking for a fridge note. Are you going to help or just be sarcastic?”

  Dr. Lenbroke’s apartment wasn’t large, though it was well appointed. The throw rug in the living room was soft organic cotton; the couch was upholstered with imported leather. The entertainment console was large and new, with small, high-quality speakers mounted around the room. The kitchen and dining areas were spacious, with an imported hardwood dining table.

  It didn’t take the two of them long to search through the front area of the apartment. Satisfied they hadn’t missed anything, Min moved to the rear of the apartment. Through an open doorway, the rest of the floor plan was split into a bedroom and an office.

  Ruu took the bedroom. “I know where a woman might keep things that are secret,” she said. “You do your man thing in the office.”

  Min shrugged. There was sense in that. The office featured a fairly nice computer workstation, which Min left alone for now. There might be something of use on it, but he couldn’t imagine Dr. Lenbroke leaving it without a password. It would take months with an AI to get past even a semi-competent password. One wall was lined with bookshelves; heavy medical texts took up most of the shelf space, with knickknacks and mementos occupying the gaps. A large reading table sat next to the computer desk.

  He wasn’t searching for evidence. He had enough of that to justify Dr. Lenbroke’s execution on the spot. He wasn’t interested in building a case against her and making sure she served time in the ice mines. He wanted to kill her.

  The drawers under the reading table were locked, but, as Ruu had suggested, he simply had to “do his man thing.” He could easily shoot the locks out of the drawers, but the monomol rounds might obliterate anything useful inside. Looking around the room didn’t offer any immediate solutions, so he went to the kitchen and grabbed the heaviest pieces of metal he could find.

  Equipped with a honing steel and a rolling pin, he returned to the office. The honing steel made a poor chisel, but he wasn’t concerned with subtlety or preserving his tools. Using the rolling pin as a mallet, he put the tip of the honing steel against the drawer locks and with a few hard strokes, drove the locks through the wood. It felt like a desecration, but in the end it was just wood. More could be shipped in from Earth. The same could not be said for the lives being taken by the kidnapping ring.

  “What the hell are you doing in there?” Ruu called.

  “Being a man,” Min answered. He hauled open the drawers and dumped their contents out onto the reading desk. There was a smattering of office supplies that he pushed to one side, leaving a collection of papers and a plastic shipping box containing a handful of data chips.

  Min flipped over the shipping box, searching for a label. Sure enough, he found one, though it had been mangled when the box had been opened.

  Ruu stuck her head into the office. “Nothing in the bedroom. Find anything?”

  “Maybe.” Min smoothed out the label carefully, trying to match the edges of the tears. After a minute, he had reconstructed enough of the address to determine it wasn’t Dr. Lenbroke’s apartment. “Get your tablet out,” he said. “Search for this address: ACH9-618. I think. That eight might be a five. Or a three.”

  After a moment of tapping, Ruu said, “Eight is nothing, but five is a storage facility. Spare parts overflow for mining equipment.”

  “That has to be it!” Min scooped up the data chips from the box and pocketed them in case they held something useful or incriminating. “Got directions?”

  “Yes. One second… okay. Oh. It’s right around the corner.”

  “Guess the good doctor wasn’t interested in a long commute.”

  “What’s the plan now? Do we just go in shooting? We have no idea how many guns might be in there. Or if it’s even what we’re looking for.”

  Min frowned. His blood was up and he itched with the urge to do damage, but Ruu had a point. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “If the last fight we were in was any indication of your normal operating procedure, I don’t know how you’re even still alive.”

  “I would have figured something out.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Look, I’m open to constructive criticism, but you’re not helping right now.”

  “Okay. Sorry. I think I have an idea.”

  “I don’t like this plan,” Min grumbled.

  “It’ll get us in the door. That’s what’s important. Now be quiet and play your part.” Ruu hammered on the door with her pistol butt. Her other hand was twisted up in Min’s collar.

  Min stood to one side. His hands were behind his back, zip tied together. The plastic tie had a very fi
ne cut in it, almost all the way through. All it would take was for Min to yank his hands apart and the tie would break. At least in theory. His pistol was tucked into his belt behind his back and his shirt hung loose over it. There was no way it would remain hidden if he was searched, but they didn’t expect things to go that far.

  Ruu raised her gun up to knock on the door again and it swung open abruptly. A man greeted Ruu with a shotgun aimed at her face, cradled awkwardly with one arm in an inflatable cast. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m the one cleaning up your mess.” Ruu glared at the man. “Who the hell are you? Get that fucking gun out of my face, God damn it.”

  A hint of uncertainty crossed the man’s face and Ruu pushed the barrel of the shotgun to the side. With her other hand, she hauled Min from behind the wall. “Look who I caught skulking around outside. Weren’t you assholes supposed to have dealt with this piece of shit already?”

  The man startled as he recognized Min. “It’s the marshal!”

  “It’s the marshal!” Ruu mocked, and shoved the mercenary backward into the room, pushing the door open wider and pulling Min in after her. “Of course it’s the fucking marshal.”

  The room had a reception desk in one corner with a shoddy terminal planted carelessly on it. There were waiting chairs against the wall and a double door in the back with a sign with “STORAGE” above it. Two more men were coming through the door, they were armed but their pistols were in their holsters.

  “Vito, who’re these– is that the marshal?”

  Vito stepped to the side and raised his shotgun to cover Min. “Yeah.” He licked his lips nervously, his hands working on the grip of the shotgun. “She captured the marshal outside.”