by Casey Herzog
Today, it was Thomas' turn to be the birthday boy. He was now, unofficially, fifteen years old. Officially, everyone in Pluto Cohort had turned fifteen five months ago when the standard Earth calendar had flipped. However, for those in the Birthday Club, they held true to birthdays they had drawn for themselves.
An arm reached over and shook Peter as he lay in his billet. He was already awake, but he appreciated the jolt. Sitting upright, he stretched his limbs, careful not to hit the billet above him. Alphred was not a part of the Birthday Club and Peter had to make sure he didn't become aware of it. It was not that Alphred was a bad commander, or even that Peter didn't trust him. Since the events on Mars Station, he had gained a new respect for Alphred's fearless by-the-book style of leadership. The trouble was, by-the-book leadership didn't always win friends, and he knew Alphred would never be able to put his cohort’s mental well-being over the immutable law of the Chiefs of Staff.
Slipping out of his bunk, Peter crept to the billet door. As Pluto Cohort's honorary third in command, he had special privileges to be out of his billet during the cohort's rest shift. This was, of course, meant for use in emergency situations, but he found people didn't really question him wandering the corridors of the living rotunda so long as he didn't make a habit of it.
As he put his thumbprint on the door scanner, he held his breath. Opening the door would invite the bright glare of the corridor's light into their sleeping space. The light would certainly arouse Alphred; he just had to hope his commander wouldn't make anything of it.
He heard a faint groan, and Peter didn't wait to see if it would lead to anything more. He stepped through the door and shut the billet back up behind him. He waited for about a minute, ample time to check that Alphred was not going to come after him. When he was satisfied, he put his hands in his pockets and began to walk down the corridor towards the mess.
Passing the billets for the other cohorts, he found himself lingering for a moment at the two rooms that had formerly belonged to Mars Cohort. The Admiral had been quick to make use of the extra space after Mars Cohort had been left to defend humanity's interests on the Red Planet. The boy's billet had been turned into a kind of recreation room for off duty cohorts. The girl's billet had a more specialized purpose and could only be accessed by agreement from one of the Chiefs of Staff, and only members of Jupiter and Saturn cohort were currently permitted to ask for access.
As he stood outside the rec-room, Peter found himself taking a moment to consider how the members of Mars Cohort were doing. He'd seen the news reports on the mess hall vid screens, but Peter had never trusted the media to give an accurate report on things. He didn't have time to be nostalgic though. He shook his head and opened the door to the room. A few members of Uranus Cohort were in the room. Two were playing chess, two more milled around the coffee machine that had been kindly donated from the chief's lounge by the Admiral. Another group entertained themselves with a tactical simulator. It was meant to be a recreational gaming platform, but all the 'games' you could play on them were geared towards testing the users’ skills and abilities. Peter liked to joke that the Admiral and Chiefs of Staff looked at the high scores saved on the platform as another way of ranking the crew's abilities.
His contact in the Uranus Cohort had been as good as her word. She was alone at a table, looking over some notes on her computer. When the others looked up in confusion at Peter, he quickly fell back on his alibi. He moved swiftly to where the girl sat and coughed to gain her attention. “Hey, I was just relaying a message for my commander.”
“What of it?” The girl did a good job of acting frosty, not even looking up from her screen. It was common for the older cohorts to treat the younger ones with a certain degree of contempt.
“Well, I just happened to run into your own second in command and they asked me to fetch you.”
A few of the others in the room snickered at that. They probably liked the idea of their commander bossing around the lower cohorts. At least one of them was laughing because he really knew what was going on. Peter recognized him as one of the Club members, same as the girl he was with now.
“Fine, I'm coming.”
Peter followed the icy member of Uranus Cohort back into the corridor. He couldn't help but grin as the door to the rec room closed behind them. “Did you take a course in pretending to be so cold?”
The girl smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Who says I'm pretending? Maybe I just don't like you very much, Crater Face.”
Peter didn't let the name get to him. Things had changed since Mars. The hostility he had faced from his fellows had diminished greatly after he made his first kill. It was not a great reason for gaining the respect of his peers, but Peter took it. It was a small silver lining to the nightmares he still had after that encounter. The nicknames remained, but these felt more like banter now.
“So, what do you have for me? Were you able to get anything to help get Thomas' day rolling?”
The girl gave a proud smile. “Chocolate pudding. Technically, it's on the menu for your cohort when your evening meal comes around. Still, getting it as breakfast has got to be good, right?”
Peter nodded. “About as good as we can manage. Where is it?”
The girl began to walk down the corridor. “Hidden in my billet. It's probably dried out a bit I'm afraid.”
“Not a problem,” Peter assured.
Together the two unlikely companions walked down the corridor to Uranus Cohort's billet. The girl slipped inside for a moment then came out a few moments later with a small container. “I need the box back, it belongs with Hydroponics.”
Peter nodded. “We're on hydroponics duty for our morning shift anyway. I can make sure it's returned without anyone noticing.”
At that moment, the girl's gaze shot down the corridor to where two other members of her cohort were walking. They couldn't risk a longer chat, so Peter decided to be on his way without a proper goodbye.
All told, the operation went as well as could be expected. Having found allies in the other cohorts had widely improved the abilities of Peter’s Birthday Club, and this had to be the most successful venture yet. Way back at the start, there was not much that could be done on any one’s allotted birthday. Small acts of kindness like taking over a hated chore, or going the extra mile during classes to ensure the birthday recipient had an easier time. Now, they had become a full-blown smuggling ring. Peter didn’t know what the punishment was for trafficking chocolate pudding out of the mess hall or purloining glorified Tupperware from hydroponics. He doubted the Admiral and Chiefs of Staff had even thought about it. Still, it was definitely a crime, and Thomas had to appreciate the lengths the club was going to in order to celebrate his birthday.
Stepping back into his quarters, Peter took a moment to survey the scene. His and Alphred’s bunk was right in the way of the door and Peter waited to see how his commander would react to his return. The Commander didn’t seem to stir. It wasn’t a good sign; it meant Alphred was awake and only pretending to be asleep. Peter decided to keep the container on his person. It’d be easier to slip it to Thomas in a few hours’ time when everyone was awake.
When morning came, the boys who were in on the secret were quick to aid Peter in setting things up for Thomas. One of them took the container from Peter’s bed and slipped it to Thomas while Alphred was taking his morning shower. In the mess hall, one guy donated his rehydrated sausage to Thomas, feigning a lack of appetite. Then, during their hydroponics inspection, Nisha and Peter worked extra hard so that Thomas could relax and not have to worry about inspecting the growth and health of miniature radishes and lettuce. It was hard for Peter to take up the slack, but, between him and Nisha, they about covered it. By the end of the hydroponics check, things were on course for a really good day.
It was just as the lunch shift came around that Peter’s day began to go downhill.
As the other members of the cohort stepped into the mess hall, Peter found himself stopped in his
tracks by a tall, slender figure with mismatched eyes. Only a few months ago, the sight of Minerva Tharsis would have been a welcome one. These days, he wasn’t so sure. Something had changed in his friend. He could hardly have expected anything less. Her mother had been killed, ripped from her life in a senseless act of violence. How could such a thing not change a person? He understood why she had changed, but that did mean he didn’t miss the person Minerva had once been.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Minerva wasn’t wrong. Peter had tried hard for several months to be there for her, be the friend she needed. She’d rebuffed him. Every attempt he had made to find that connection they had shared was pushed aside by Minerva’s new, and frankly fanatical dedication to the mission. Any time Peter tried to speak to her it had to be while training or working. She just didn’t stop. Worse, she never let the conversation stray far from their work or the readiness of their cohort for combat. Peter just couldn’t deal with that, not twenty-four seven. In the end, he stopped putting in the hours with her, stopped trying to unearth the friend who had stood by him on through the first phase of the mission. It was nobody’s fault. She had changed; he hadn’t.
“I’ve been right here,” Peter replied. “If you wanted to chat you could have easily come over while we were doing tending the greens.
Minerva’s face didn’t move. She was like a blank slate, lacking in real emotion. “I didn’t want to get in the way of you and Nisha. You two seem to be getting on famously. Guess she’ll always be grateful for what you did for her during that EVA drill.”
Peter let out a tired sigh. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he ignored it. “If you want to chat, it is the lunch shift you know. Want to grab a bite?”
“Actually, Alphred’s already grabbed your lunch. We’ve got things to discuss back at the billet.” The Martian turned smartly on her heels and began to walk down the corridor towards their dorms.
“We’re having a meeting? Why not ask the Chiefs to let us use a briefing room?” Peter had to practically jog to keep up with Minerva. His body had grown a fair bit after prolonged exposure to the low gravity that permeated much of the ship, but he still had nothing on the Martian’s height.
“Well we would ask the Chiefs, but we don’t really want to have to tell them that you’ve started a little underground cult in the cohorts.”
Peter paused in his tracks. Minerva kept walking. She seemed to be making a point not to look at him as she marched on. He thought of Thomas in the mess hall, the others doing what they could to make his fictional birthday special. It seemed that pretty picture would soon be over.
Alphred stood on the far side of the billet. Ordinarily, girls were not permitted in the boy’s dorms and vice-versa. However, it seemed the Commander was willing to make an exception in this case though. Minerva strode into the room behind Peter and instantly took a seat on one of the mattresses. She had to hunch forward to make sure her head didn’t hit the upper bunk.
“A Birthday Club?” Alphred ran a hand through his short, near-blonde hair. He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was having a sharp migraine and his eyes were shut. “Of all the possible ways you could break regulations, you had to choose the most convoluted and absurd way possible.”
Peter didn’t bother to contest that front. If Alphred and Minerva had decided to alert the chiefs to his indiscretion, he would have been interested to see them explain just what breaches of regulation, specifically, they would take him to task for. “How’d you find out about it?”
Minerva crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Peter with eyes that seemed both wounded and intent on wounding him. “It wasn’t so hard. General observation to begin with. When over half the cohort are sharing a secret, it becomes very hard not to notice something’s wrong.”
Peter pursed his lips and leaned against the wall. “You didn’t corner anyone into telling you what was going on, did you?”
“Of course we did,” Alphred said in a matter of fact tone. “I had Amelia Hawkins taken aside while you were preoccupied picking up Thomas’ work. It didn’t take her too long to tell us all about it.” His sharp green eyes glanced at Peter, not a hint of regret for what he had done.
“We didn’t choke the information out of her or threaten her,” Minerva added. Even if they had grown apart, she still seemed able to read Peter’s mind when it suited her.
Peter studied Minerva for a minute. He cared about what he had made with the ‘Birthday Club.’ It had brought the cohort together, increased camaraderie, but he knew it could not continue now Alphred knew about it. However, even with the threat of his little endeavor ending, his concern was with Minerva. He knew why Alphred was angry with him. Alphred always got touchy when regulations were ignored or violated. Minerva though, Peter couldn’t help but worry she was more hurt that Peter hadn’t confided in her about the idea. That would be something he’d have to leave till later though. “I take it then you’re not going to tell the Admiral or the Chiefs of Staff. I don’t think we’d be hiding out in the billet if you wanted to do this officially.”
“Do not be cocky with me, Peter,” Alphred warned. The Armstrong stood up and walked over to where Peter stood, putting on a rare display of physical intimidation. He really must be worked up about this. “Pluto Cohort has come a long way since the mess we were in before Mars. Teamwork and cohort pride have increased dramatically, and that in turn, has boosted our performance and success in field exercises. I do not doubt that a large part of this turnaround is due to your own efforts. I am even willing to admit that this little secret ‘club’ you have organized has likely had its own positive impacts. But it stops now. Say what you want to those involved; tell them you’ve received a warning from the Admiral, tell them the truth if you must, but I want to see all activity of the little organization stopped.”
Peter knew he had no room to manoeuvre here. Though he didn’t like to admit it, Alphred was already being generous in letting him shut down the operation quietly. “Sure thing, Commander. I’ll have a word with those involved, tell them to pass the message on.”
Alphred didn’t seem fully satisfied. His brow knotted and then, all at once, his shoulders slumped. The tough guy stance he had held a moment before melted and he pinched his nose again. “You only call me ‘Commander’ when I’ve annoyed you. You do see why I need to act on this don’t you?”
Peter bit his bottom lip. In all honesty, he didn’t see what the fuss was about. As far as breaking rules went, this didn’t feel like something to get riled up about. But he was not about to try and argue with his superior on the matter. It wasn’t worth the hassle. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were overtaken by a louder, more abrasive noise.
It was the general alarm: all crew to muster for immediate manoeuvres. Minerva leaped off the bunk where she was sat and moved out into the corridor before Alphred and Peter even managed to respond to the noise.
CHAPTER 4
The Admiral had the crew beat to quarters before. The Chiefs were eager to make sure the cohorts were able to ready for an engagement at a moment’s notice. Timed runs were commonplace. Still, this didn’t feel like a simulation run. There was something in the way the Chiefs called out their orders on the comms, an urgency that couldn’t be faked or put on.
Rushing down the main corridor, the members of the other cohorts parted before him. As third in command of Pluto, Peter needed to be on the bridge with the other commanders, and the others were obliged to make space for him and Alphred during an emergency. Minerva must have run full pelt down the corridor when the alarm sounded. He couldn’t even spy her ahead of him. If this were all a drill, then Minerva would probably take top marks for manning her station in the fastest time.
Descending the ladder down into the main artery of the ship, Peter noticed the members of Jupiter cohort drifting down towards the armory. They had by far the hardest job. They had scant minutes to assemble and don the thirty suits of knight armor that the Unity
had been outfitted with. A few minutes later still, they would be at the airlocks, armed with swords, spears and rubberised grenades. They would be the first line of defence if the ship were to come under attack. Rather them than him.
Peter was only permitted a moment to watch the others rushing up and down the corridor to their positions. He had his own station to take, and Alphred’s voice quickly reminded him of that. “Pick up the pace Peter; we are not going to be the last ones to our posts.”
The bridge was alive with sound when Peter and Alphred arrived. The Chiefs were all at their posts, strapped into their chairs and concentrating intently on their monitors. The cohort commanders were lining up by the main overhead tactical display, and Peter took his place with them, falling in next to Minerva. Anchoring his feet to the floor by hooking them under a bar, Peter began to study the view on the tactical feed. The Unity was displayed in the center of the display and the immediate space around her was displayed for all to see. The cause of the general alarm was obvious. Peter glanced to Minerva, noting the way her eyes blazed with anticipation at what was to come. His mouth twisted as he looked back to the freighter drifting on the screen. He hoped he would not have to rein the Martian back from any foolish endeavor.
When Admiral Gayle spoke, Peter put his concern for his friend to the side. He centered his attention on the wizened veteran, noting with admiration the way the Admiral somehow managed to exude a relaxed and even manner even as the other Chiefs sat in tense anticipation. He held a swagger stick in his hands, twirling it absentmindedly as he waited for the perfect moment to speak.
“Well then, Commanders, as you can see from the screens, this is no drill or simulation exercise.” The man pointed his stick to the screen, a harsh swishing sound filling the air. “The freighter on the screen is known to us, identified as Orion’s Arrow. She is a short-range freighter, and would normally fly only between the bases and stations around Jupiter. As you might appreciate, the fact that we are still over a month’s travel time from the Jovian system, she should not be drifting this far out.” The corner of the Admiral’s eyes crinkled as he surveyed the young cohort commanders, and his mouth set into a hard line. “So then, I invite you to theorize and suggest a suitable course of action.”
