by Casey Herzog
He took deeper and deeper breaths as the two memories pressed on his mind. He remembered floating in the dark of the Unity’s training room, set upon by two assailants. He remembered the pointed edge of a spear cleaving through his fingers, severing them completely from his hand. Even the memory of that pain made him flinch, and he clutched at his hand reflexively. He began to flex his finger muscles just to assure himself that they really were still attached to his body. Then, as always happened when he thought back on that attack, his mind settled on the disturbing thought that his attackers had been members of his own crew. The Chiefs of Staff had never found out who. Somehow, whoever had maimed him had perfectly covered their tracks.
Peter’s consciousness began to drift. As the thoughts and memories of the past coalesced, exhaustion forced him to a disturbed sleep, and his dreams continued the train of memories in abstract. He was walking in a darkened corridor filled with crates. He recognized it. It was the shuttle where he had made his first ever kill. If he were to look out of a view port window he would see the Red Planet and the orbiting station that was once Minerva’s home. His dreaming mind did not go to the windows though. He knew where he was going. He didn’t want to, but his body compelled him to move deeper into the labyrinth of the ship’s storage.
He was being hunted. He could hear the whir of the electric cutter blade. It whined like an angry hornet, seeming to come from all directions at once. Peter felt the inky darkness become a thick soup around him. His thrusters couldn’t move him. He was stuck like a fly in amber. Even as he struggled against the cloying black, he was caught in. There was no escape to be had, and Peter knew it. This wasn’t the first time he had experienced this dream. He knew it like an old favorite horror flick. Peter knew he was dreaming, but that didn’t help him and didn’t make the dream any less difficult to face. In fact, it was harder to face the dream when he knew just what was coming for him.
Out of the darkness, a figure floated toward him. His neck was bent completely out of shape, the vertebrae snapped. The helmet of his suit was obscured by the gore. The whirring sound that had followed him across the ship was found embedded in the man’s skull. A metal cutting saw had been rammed into his skull, the power left on as the blades chewed their way angrily through the dead man’s bone. Peter had done this: his first kill. Now, the man was back to get revenge. Peter couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. All he could do was watch as the man’s hands gripped the handle of the deadly instrument, pulling it free from his head. He was going to do to Peter what had been done to him. There was nothing that could stop him.
Peter woke again with a gasp. His body lurched upright and his head spun as he tried to work out just where he was. He felt wet. A film of sweat clung to his skin, and his face bunched up as he wiped mopped his brow with the back of his hand. This was not the first time he had awakened like this. Still, it had been several months since he had last had the nightmare, and it frustrated him to think that the night terror had returned.
“Dreams again?” The calm, dulcet voice of his commander drifted from the cot above him. Peter still found Alphred’s detached easy voice difficult to deal with at times.
“It’s nothing.” Peter blinked and rubbed his eyes, securing his sense of wakefulness and banishing the last remnants of his dream to the back of his mind.
“As long as it won’t affect your ability to perform under pressure. We have to be at our best today.” As always, Alphred was thinking of the mission ahead of his team.
“I’m fine. Not going to be going back to sleep anytime soon though.” Peter swung his legs out and sat upright.
“Get showered up if you like, our rest period is ending in seventeen minutes anyway.”
Peter nodded and stood. Stretching his body, he turned to look at his commander, lying in calm repose in the top bunk. His face was bathed the light of a tablet screen “When are manoeuvres starting against the Galileo?” Peter guessed the Commander would be monitoring the situation closely.
Alphred yawned. “The Dove disembarked already with Saturn and Jupiter Cohorts. As far as I can tell, the Admiral’s gambit is paying off. The Secessionists have been keeping constant communications with us, trying to make us think the station is safe to dock with and the chiefs have done a good job in making them think we are falling completely into their trap.”
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t want to be a part of the battle. Still, he felt conflicted when he considered that he had been asleep as two divisions of the ship readied for battle. “How long till the Dove docks with Galileo?”
“They’ll dock sometime between our breakfast and the morning shift. Our cohort has been instructed to take on ship maintenance, but there is a chance we might be called upon to help with comms relays and tracking.” Alphred put down the pad for a moment and looked to Peter with a serious look in his eyes. “Have a shower. You don’t have to concern yourself with the battle unless the Chiefs tell you to.”
Peter rolled his eyes but nodded. He wished he could be as detached as his commander in these situations. He began to shuffle between the bunks, noticing as he moved to the showers that nearly everyone else in the billet was awake. He suspected that none of them had been lucky enough to get more than a couple of hours sleep at best.
The cohort worked in near silence. There was no stipulation from Alphred or Minerva telling the cohort they could not talk while working, but silence reigned anyway. Occasionally, someone would look out the window at the Galileo station. No matter how many times you looked though, you could not see anything useful. The station just sat there, a large cylinder surrounded by five spinning cylinders. In all likelihood, the corridors and sections of the ship were now battlefields, strewn with bodies and injured, but you would never have been able to get any sense of that from looking at the station from a distance.
The Chiefs of Staff had made no attempt to keep the other cohorts updated with the battle’s progress. For all Peter knew, the members of Jupiter and Saturn Cohorts could have failed to take the station and were battling for their lives. He tried not to think about that. He tried to take the more optimistic view that no news was good news. After all, if the battle groups had been decimated, then the Admiral would need to order a retreat and the mobilization of the remaining cohorts.
“Peter, you with us?”
Rubbing his eyes, Peter turned to Minerva. He hadn’t noticed the Martian approach him. It said something about how little sleep he’d had. “Sorry, mind elsewhere.”
Minerva’s chest heaved, and her lips drew thin as she surveyed him. “Alphred said you were having dreams again.”
“That blabber mouth. It’s fine, Min; I’m fine.” Peter opened up a new wall bracket and began to check the systems with renewed vigor. He could hear Minerva sigh behind him.
“Look, you don’t have to be ashamed about it.”
“Who said I’m ashamed? They’re dreams Min. I’m not going to go to pieces over it.” Deciding everything was in working order, Peter slotted the bracket back away.
Minerva nodded and leaned against the wall. She wasn’t even pretending to be focused on the work. “I felt sure we’d have heard something by now. I wish the Admiral would have let me take the Dove for this mission. I know I could have made a difference. Saffron from Jupiter Division was chosen as pilot, and I can tell you it was not a great choice. I can name at least five other choices that would have been better for this mission.”
Peter’s expression closed up. He did not want to hear how Minerva wanted to be a part of the mission. “This is Jupiter’s theater of war; we’re Pluto Cohort. When we get to Pluto then we can have all the fun of battling the Secessionists all by ourselves.”
Minerva seemed to scowl, and Peter noticed her feet tapping on the white floor. She looked like she was waiting for a late shuttle. “We won’t be ready for Pluto if the Admiral and the Chiefs keep us coddled and sheltered away from ever fight we take to the enemy.”
Peter hated hearing this fr
om her. Before Mars, Minerva would never have spoken like this. “I hardly like to say this, but I’m sure we’ll get our chance to fight. With the Secessionists having taken such a strong hold of the system, we’re going to see action, even if the Chiefs would prefer to keep us away from it.”
The Martian’s eyes seemed to sparkle and she perked up considerably at the thought. “Jupiter’s the single largest system. Between her moon bases, mining centers and other substations, the Admiral won’t be able to spare us. Perhaps we’ll be assigned to take back one of the moons.”
Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s just get through the next few hours first, see what the damage from this fight is before we go planning further battles.”
“I know, I know.” Minerva was still clearly restless; she had begun to hop from one foot to the other unconsciously as her mind worked through the possibilities ahead of them. “When the Chiefs give us our chance, we’ll make the Secessionists pay through the nose for what they tried to do to us on Mars.”
Peter’s jaw hardened. He desperately wanted to speak his mind at that moment, to tell her what he really thought of her newly developed sense of zeal. He couldn’t though. He couldn’t risk causing a scene in front of the rest of the cohort. Unable to think of anything to say, he settled on saying nothing at all. He just moved over to another section of the corridor wall and began to open up the panelling to check underneath. He could feel Minerva’s eyes follow him as he left her. He didn’t turn back to see her expression. He had made that mistake before, and he felt low every time he had seen that wounded, dissatisfied look on her face. He wondered if she really understood why they had grown so far apart.
Beginning his inspection of the new panel and the hydroponic garden nestled inside, Peter tried to focus his mind back on his work. However, he had only been at it for five minutes before Thomas suddenly called out to everyone. “Hey, look! Look, the Galileo is launching shuttles. You can see the lights from their engines, over there.”
At once, everyone abandoned their work and crowded the viewing ports. With the rotunda spinning to keep their simulated gravity constant, it was hard to get a good look at what was happening outside the ship. Still, as Peter pushed his way to the window, he could see the lights from several engines.
“What is it? Whose shuttles are they? Is it the Dove?”
“Hey come on, back to work.” Alphred pushed past the gawkers to stand in the way of the window. He was alone in maintaining order; Minerva was too busy trying to get a view of the action. “Come on, all of you back to your duties. When there is news, the Admiral and Chiefs will tell us.”
Peter took it upon himself to try and bring order back to the group and fell on the one member of the squad he hoped would not be as fascinated with the battle raging quietly in the void outside. “Nisha, if you're done with your section, can you help me conduct a temperature check? The pods seem to be running a little hot to me.”
Nisha turned uncertainly, eyes remaining with the viewport. She ran her hand through her short dark hair, then forced her attention fully to Peter. “Yeah...sure...temp check.”
Peter shot a glance to Minerva as he and Nisha peeled away from the group. For a moment, he thought her eyes had followed after him, but it might have been his imagination.
For another hour, the cohort continued their menial labor across the decks. From time to time, eyes drifted back to the ports, but there was nothing new to see. Whatever the shuttles were that had left the Galileo, they were disappearing fast, the lights of their engines merging with the panorama of stars as they shrank away into space. Begrudgingly, the cohort returned to their work and waited for the Chiefs to give them some indication of what was happening, what the fate of the battle had been.
When the corridor speakers came to life, everyone stopped at once, frozen like statues as they listened for news. “All cohorts, attention all cohorts. All registered squad medics priority assembly at the airlocks, we have wounded inbound.”
Heads turned, and whispers fell through the group. When it became apparent that there was no follow up information or updates, the mood turned sour. A few of the boys shrugged their shoulders, one swore and Alphred clapped his hands together, eager to gain order. “Goswami, you've taken medical training with Dr. Scott, muster with the other medical staff on the double.”
Nisha froze in place. The others in the cohort looked to her, including Minerva. The Martian scowled. “What are you waiting for, Goswami? You have your orders, move!”
Peter put his hand on Nisha's shoulder, ignoring the looks the others were giving. “Come on, let’s go. Commander, I'll escort her down to the airlocks.”
Alphred nodded. “Fine, but no lingering around.”
Peter didn't bother answering, just turned and began to walk. “Come on, Nisha, let’s go.”
He waited for a moment, relieved when the girl's legs finally moved, and she began to follow him down the corridor. When she drew level with him, he noticed the way her lip trembled. “You okay?” he whispered.
Drawing in a sharp breath, Nisha nodded. Her hands were clenched into tight balls, and her jaw tightened before she spoke. “That was so stupid. The first time I've been asked to do anything on this damn mission, and I get stage fright. There's no way the cohort is going to let me live this down.”
Peter looked back, the group was still looking at them. He couldn't deny there would be words bandied around about her freeze up. He considered his words carefully. “Even if they are saying anything, they aren't the ones who can help right now. You're one of only a handful of capable medics in the cohorts.”
If his words helped Nisha at all, it didn't show on her face. “Let's just hope I can help Dr. Scott.”
“You won't let her down; let's just make sure you get down there.”
The two travelled silently and quickly down the corridor, descending down the ladder out of the living rotunda and into the zero gravity of the main ship. As they came out into the central corridor, Peter could see the other medics from Uranus and Neptune Cohorts. Both of those divisions had multiple members who had passed basic medical training. It was something Peter felt their cohort needed to address.
“Gabell?” the voice of Chief Scott, the ship's medical professional, caught his ear. Her voice was harsh and betrayed a tense mood. “Gabell, you have no qualifications to be here.”
Peter looked to Nisha. A flush of scarlet bloomed on her face, and he knew he couldn't tell them he had needed to escort her down. “I was worried you might not have enough hands. I know I am not medically certified, but I know the med-bay well enough by now: I've been your patient enough times now.”
The doctor looked at him with a blank expression then gave a slightest of nods. “I can't argue I need the hands. Okay, get in rank for debriefing.”
Peter didn't know what he was getting himself into, but felt confident in his choice when Nisha mouthed a thank you to him as they drifted over to the others.
The doctor took a moment to stare at the team assembled before her. She had a determined look in her eye and the sparkle and energy that only came to her when she was called upon to use her true talents. “Right team, this is the situation.”
CHAPTER 6
The taking of the Galileo had taken three lives of the Unity's crew: Johnathon Montgomery, Jupiter Cohort; Isaac Richards, Saturn Cohort and Sarah Cardew, second in command of Saturn. Peter had watched her die. Brought to the Unity on the Dove with the other wounded, Dr. Scott only had to take one look at her to know that there was nothing to be done for her. Watching her die was hard for all involved, and the fact that the first battle for the Jovian system had been won didn't seem to matter at all.
The ceremony of remembrance for Sarah and the two other casualties of the battle was short and not at all memorable. The cohorts assembled in the mess and bore witness to the shortest eulogy ever devised.
“We honor our dead in the manner instructed to us and befitting loyal serviceman of the One Earth Le
ague Space Division. Please stand for the honor roll of the dead.” The Admiral stood calm and detached at the front. From his voice, you would not be able to tell that anyone had died. He could easily have been announcing the morning’s news.
Peter stood with the others, eyes flicking to Nisha next to him. Due to the differing of shifts of the cohorts, neither of them knew the deceased crew very well, but they had watched one of them die, and that meant something. All three had been caught in a blast on the Galileo. The Secessionists were desperate during their retreat, and had risked the integrity of the station by using powerful explosives. The action was absolutely against the accepted confines of special conflict and amounted to a war crime in the eyes of the Chiefs and the Admiral.
The first two were killed immediately by the blast. They were the lucky ones. Sarah had taken hours to die, most of it in agony. When Dr. Scott got to her, the only thing she could offer the girl was a heavy dose of sedatives. Sarah had slept as the last embers of her life died away.
The Admiral let the silence in the mess do the talking for him. For about a minute, the crew of the Unity stood quietly in solidarity and mourning. That minute was all they were getting. The Admiral began to read off the names of the deceased, one after the other. There were no honors or even words of their deeds in life spoken. They were just names on a list, soon to be words on a wall plaque. Space had been cleared on the far end of the mess hall, a makeshift shrine where the names of the dead would be hung for the rest of the mission. Their names would serve as a reminder about the price that any of them might be asked to pay for the mission in the future.
