Terminus Project: Jupiter (Child Prodigy SciFi)

by Casey Herzog

  As Philip’s body began to go limp, Peter carefully reached out to grab the detonation device before the thing could slip from the Engineer’s dead fingers. As soon as he had it, Peter carefully switched the device off, watching as the red glowing charges stopped flashing and became inert.

  Peter had saved the colony. He had saved Europa colony from being blown to smithereens and he felt miserable about it. His hands shook, and his breathing grew irregular. There was no one else around to keep him in check. He turned to look at the corpse, laid on its back, staring up at the ceiling. Peter found he couldn’t hold his frustration back any longer to see that face looking up at him.

  Looking about the room with a desperate need, he found a large wrench laid out on one of the control panels. Peter grabbed it and held it tightly in his right hand, knuckles white. He moved over to the still lifeless body taking in that gormless look on the Engineer’s face. Peter scowled down at him, his whole body quivering. He didn’t even know what it was he thought was about to do.

  Then without even meaning to, without even knowing what he was doing, Peter threw his body down on top of the corpse and started smacking the pile of flesh that had been the chief engineer with all his might.

  "You. Stupid. Idiot. Fuck." Each word was accompanied with a smack from the wrench. Peter’s blows fell wildly, some hitting the prodigious gut, others slamming into his dull expressionless face, smashing apart his helmet. "Why. The. Hell. Would. You. Do. This. Why. The. Fuck." His repeated blows centered more and more on the man's head, each smash from the wrench wiping that stupid look off Philip’s face as the engineer's skull collapsed in on itself. "We were here to help you!" His words were half a scream, half a sob. "You were supposed to let us help you.”

  “Peter?” A trembling voice called out to him. It was in his headset but he turned anyway, sensing someone nearby.

  As the red haze that had come over him lifted, Peter dropped the wrench in shock, putting his hand to his mouth in terror at what he had just done. He looked to Minerva with fear in his eyes, fear that she would immediately turn around and leave in disgust.

  The Martian stepped forward with slow, furtive steps. When she was by Peter’s side she took his limp arms and encouraged him up to his feet. Putting an arm around him, she walked him silently out of the room and the horror he had left there.

  CHAPTER 19

  Everyone seemed to drift. Even with airlocks closed and an artificial atmosphere returned to the station there was barely any sound to be heard. The living were little better than the dead. They stood vertical, the dead lay horizontal; that was the only difference.

  Like ghosts, the survivors haunted random corridors, some alone, some in groups. None of them had any business to attend to, no agency to spur them on. Many just sat in the corridors, either next to a friend or by a still, lifeless body. No one comforted each other, no one offered words of condolence or reassurance. Everyone was bonded under the same unifying notion that this was the end of things for Europa colony.

  As soon as the atmosphere was confirmed stable throughout the station, Peter pulled off his helmet, letting it fall to the floor. Someone else would clear it away. Minerva did likewise, only being slightly more proper than Peter by placing her helmet on a nearby counter.

  He took a moment to study her. Her face glistened with sweat. It was everywhere, and the top of her bald head glimmered like a mirror ball. She ran a gloved hand over her head in an attempt to soak up some of the sweat. She only succeeded in smearing grime and muck and blood onto her face. When she realized this, she let out a heavy sigh and looked at Peter. Her mismatched blue and green eyes were wet.

  “Should we...maybe head for the control room?” Minerva sounded uncertain.

  Peter shrugged his shoulder almost nonchalantly. “Want to get a cup of coffee first?”

  It was far and away the last thing they should probably have been thinking about in that moment, but Minerva said nothing against it. “Yeah... Yes, coffee. Coffee sounds good about now.”

  If he could have felt anything in that moment, Peter might have been surprised to find Minerva willing to ditch her responsibilities so easily. It was far more like she used to be. That carefree, happy go lucky girl did not belong in this scene though.

  The mess was located near the living quarters. Most of the Europans who had managed to survive the attack lingered around this part of the ship. Peter noticed their eyes following him as he passed by. Their faces seemed to hold some expectation, a hopefulness as they watched him pass. They looked just like beggars in some slum.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re looking at me for’ Peter thought to himself. ‘Nothing I can do for you.’

  Ignoring the eyes that followed him, Peter shuffled into the mess hall. The name seemed more appropriate than ever. Mugs and plates and bits of half eaten meals were strewn over the tables and across the floor. The glass percolator that usually sat snugly in the center of the coffee machine was now on the floor, broken into tiny shards. Peter crouched down mechanically and picked up two larger fragments. He stared at them forlornly as he pressed their edges together.

  “No coffee then?” Minerva’s voice was oddly strained. It was weird to be so choked up over a simple drink, but they both needed that touch of normalcy to help ground them. They needed to sit down and feel the warmth of the mug in their hands; they had nowhere to be and nothing to do.

  “I have freeze-dried.” Another listless voice drifted from the doorway and Peter stood, turning to see who had followed them inside.

  Leaning heavily against the doorframe with dried blood caked about the left side of his face, stood Christian. Peter blinked in genuine surprise to see the man still breathing. He honestly didn’t seem the kind of person who could survive an attack like they had just faced.

  “You all right?” Peter nodded to Christian’s face.

  The man gave a pained grin. “I’ve had worse.” Peter sincerely doubted that to be true. “Anyway, you two sit down. I should be the one making your drinks.”

  Christian hobbled into the room, his right leg lamely dragging behind him. It was only as Peter noticed the guy walk that he saw the dark stain on his leg.

  “Hey, it’s fine. I can do it.” Peter moved over trying to encourage the guy to sit down. He looked like he needed rest.

  Christian rebuffed Peter’s offer. “No. I’m going to do this. You guys put yourself through hell just now, and I’m not just going to let you wait on me. Now, sit down both of you.”

  Peter and Minerva shared an uncertain glance, then took seats on the end of a table. Peter brushed away crumbs and smashed china and then looked to Minerva. She was trying to smile at him. He didn’t know how she was able to do it after what she had seen him do.

  “What happened to you then? You look like you saw more action than we did.”

  Christian actually managed to laugh. “I saw my share of action sure.” He seemed almost proud, his chest puffing up as he began to tell his story.

  “When we heard the Secessionists were trying to break in, the crew were told to confine themselves to quarters. A few idiots decided against it. They started shouting and telling us that we should help the Secessionists, get them inside and take back our station. Well, that just tore it for me. Soon as I heard them mouthing off and thought of you guys out there fighting for us, I just had to do something. I marched right up to the guy who was shouting, punched him right in the face and ordered him to shut the hell up and get in his room.”

  Peter was surprised, touched even. After what had just passed between him and the Engineer, he could not have envisaged anyone in the colony actually standing up for him and his people.

  “Did you deliver knock out in one punch?” Minerva asked the question with a warm smile. It was possibly the first time Peter had seen her talking with a Europan rather than just ordering them about.

  Christian blushed and scratched the back of his head as his eyes darted away. “Actually, the guy punched me back and I k
nocked my head on a wall pipe. Two others from my division who chose to obey orders had to drag me into their room before locking up the door.” He hobbled over with three cups of black liquid held in his hand. “I’m sure your story is far more interesting... Dropping a shuttle on the garage lock up. Now that’s insane.”

  Peter didn’t want to smile. He felt wrong doing so, like he did not have the right to feel good about things anymore. “Well, credit for that goes to you, Min.” He met her eyes, relieved to see no menace or revulsion in her gaze as she smiled back at him. “Ramming the enemy with expensive vehicles is the only tactic she knows. You know this is the third time since we left Earth she’s tried to solve a problem by smashing a shuttle into it.”

  “You must be a real hit with the spacial engineering stations on Lunar.”

  The three laughed in unison. It was awkward at first but, somehow, they managed it. Each gripped their mug of coffee firmly in hand and forced themselves to talk, joke and even to brag about all they had just witnessed as though it were a game or a bad dream whose consequences were unreal and could not hurt them.

  Then their moment of tranquility was broken.

  “Attention all Unity crew, attention all Unity crew. Please report to the control room for debriefing and work assignments.

  The unlikely trio looked at each other. Their faces turned grim as they accepted the fact that their little world of peace was about to be broken. Their time drinking coffee together was just the eye of a storm, and now they had to brace themselves for the second round of the hurricane. Christian stood up first. Despite the injury to his leg, he leaned over the table awkwardly and put out a hand. “Just in case this is goodbye, I want to say it’s been an honor to meet you. You really are everything the media says about you and more.”

  Peter was moved by the Europan's words, but he didn’t want to let it show. “Hey, are you trying to say something about the scar on my face again?”

  Unlike their first meeting, Christian was not about to be worked up by Peter’s jibe. “Yeah, that’s right that thing is hideous.”

  There were only two types of people in the control room of Europa station. There were those like Peter, who just stood in collective contemplative and brooding silence. Nisha and Alphred and Lauren from Neptune cohort were good examples of this type. Their eyes shot about the assembly, doing an ongoing head count as the members of the Unity crew regrouped. They had arrived on Europa as a team of sixty. Now, assuming there were no stragglers unaccounted for it seemed their ranks had been thinned to fifty-two. It might have been considered a good result, but every loss for the cohorts hurt them deeply both emotionally and for the future of their mission. Both Neptune and Pluto were still years away and it did not bode well to be taking casualties already.

  As the quieter crew milled about, they exchanged hushed words. They spoke of those they had lost, things they had done which had remained with them after the battle. Their words of condolence and shared grief were easily drowned out by the second, more raucous, and slightly larger group.

  This second group huddled together, shaking hands with gusto, high fiving, laughing. Commander Icarus was at their head and took great pains to talk to everyone in turn. These were the triumphant heroes, those for whom war was some kind of sport, and every kill made was a trophy to be boasted of and worn proudly. Peter was disappointed to see them.

  For over a year now, he had been the only member of the younger cohorts to have a confirmed kill to his name. It was an alienating and dubious honor at best. Too many, especially those who were now cheering and celebrating, had believed Peter was intensely proud of his work. An assumption existed that he should feel a quiet joy about being the first in his cohort to thin out the enemy herd. Though Peter had never said anything to lend credence to such an assumption, most thought he was just trying to remain humble among his peers. Somewhere, deep inside, he had to feel the warm glow that service to humanity wrought.

  Peter had been able to deal with the mistaken assumptions from his peers for the last year because he knew they had not faced or seen the same things he had. Just like them, he had made an assumption of his own, one that seemed to have been shot down by the scene before him now. Whenever anyone had tried to make him recount his killing of the Mars Base terrorist, Peter told himself they were only interested because they had not yet had to kill anyone themselves. When they had seen what he had seen, when they had been forced to do what he had done, Peter was certain they would not talk so lightly of killing.

  His assumption had been wrong. Different people, different tastes; some had definitely developed a taste for conflict. He watched impassively as one of the boys in his own cohort seemed to recreate a moment from the battle for his fellows. He mimed thrusting out his spear, then did a little pirouette on the spot and thrust out his other arm, his hand held close to one of the onlooker’s necks. Those listening to his tale nodded their approval, and soon, it was someone else’s turn to move into the center of the ring and re-enact their finest moment in the battle. Peter did not bother to watch any more.

  He looked to Minerva, expecting her to stay by his side. However, she had already been claimed by a jubilant group, and Peter watched as she was ushered away. They were keen to hear of her daring heroics and a full account of her crashing the Secessionist’s own shuttle on top of their heads. Peter didn’t know if Minerva would be eager to tell the tale or not. He didn’t want to know. Not wishing to be alone, he struck out towards Alphred, who was standing in quiet conversation with Lauren.

  “I had started to worry you were in the medical unit.” Alphred put out his hand in a perfunctory manner. It was a stiff handshake, one that celebrated a job well done without showing pleasure in it.

  “No, I just decided to stop off for a cup of coffee on the way back up here.”

  Lauren raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. “You know we are meant to be counting up our numbers. Holding us up like that...you had us worried.”

  Peter looked at the Unity crew. “I hardly think so. This looks more like a party than a debriefing.”

  Lauren’s face softened and her shoulders slumped. “I have already mentioned to the Commander that we should focus our attentions on containment and relief for the Europans, but I think he believes we deserve our moment to just breathe.”

  “Or he just wants his moment to crow,” Peter suggested.

  “Also a possibility,” Lauren admitted. “However, it’ll be better to let everyone get this euphoria out of their system now. We cannot have them unfocused or over stimulated for the next phase of our operations. I suppose I will try to gain my Commander’s ear and suggest we move things along.” With that, she walked away. She had a very business-like manner that came across even in the way she moved.

  Alphred turned to Peter with a serious look in his eyes. “Good work in the engineering core, Peter. We were lucky you were down there.”

  Peter gave an unintelligent grunt in response.

  “When you didn’t immediately return to the control room, I took the time to review the video logs from that sector. I don’t know what it is worth to you, but I corrupted the feed in the moments after you killed the engineer. No one should think much of it. We can claim the systems were hit by the damage done to the facility.”

  Peter felt a churning in his stomach as Alphred spoke. A deep-set shame gnawed on his soul to think that anyone had been able to see him, to see what he did to that man’s body after his death. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. “Thank you.”

  Alphred nodded. “The Unity is now in orbit above Europa. When they send down the Dove with reinforcements from Saturn cohort I am thinking of sending you up there. You’ve had to put up with a lot on this mission. Perhaps you were shouldered with more than we should reasonably have put upon you.”

  Peter thought for a moment. There was a part of him that wanted to accept his Commander’s offer. The chance to be done with Europa colony for good, leave the clean up to someone else, nothing
could be more tempting. He almost regretted the answer that came out of his mouth.

  “No, I would like to stay here and assist with the clean-up operations.”

  Alphred’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? I will be honest, I want assurances that you are in the right frame of mind for this.”

  Peter sniffed, taking a moment to rein in his emotions. “I’ll be fine. That cup of coffee was just what I needed to get my motivation back.” He turned to Alphred and offered a smile.

  The Commander shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Must have been a pretty good cup of coffee.”

  Peter thought back to Christian’s offer, his insistence on serving Peter despite his own injuries. That gratitude, even if it was not shared by the whole colony of Europa, was enough to keep him going.

  As they stood in silence, Alphred found himself called by Lauren and Icarus. Peter watched him go, feeling a little vulnerable and isolated. He looked about the room, a little lost. It was then he noticed Nisha standing nearby. She smiled at him. It was a quiet, sad smile one which he returned. He walked over to her and was surprised when she put her arms out to embrace him. He didn’t question it. He put his arms around her in turn as they communicated their mutual pain without words.

  CHAPTER 20

  The work of shoring up Europa colony was like therapy to Peter. He enjoyed it. There was no way the facilities on the moon base could be restored to full working order by their efforts alone, but just bringing the base back to a habitable state was a truly rewarding thing.

  The colony’s numbers had been greatly reduced by the battle. There were those who had been killed trying to fight off the Secessionists, those who had tried to aid the Secessionists and been cut down by Pluto and Neptune Cohort, and those who were simply unlucky. Dispersal of the bodies was the hardest duty, and the furnaces in the facility burned hot and long as they became makeshift crematoriums.