Fires of Prometheus

by Michael G. Thomas

Spartan didn’t wait, he moved forward and towards the space a short distance from the rest of the prisoners.

  “The red group is what I like to call the special group. It will get the toughest assignments but it will receive benefits and the chance to win your freedom. Anybody who works in the red group for one continuous week will be sent to our education programme. From there you will be,” he coughed quietly to himself, “reintegrated into society.”

  Spartan was hardly an intellectual but he could see the man was lying. Whatever this re-education thing was it wouldn’t be for any kind of freedom. The question was though, did he want to stay in the prison forever or did he want to try for the re-education and see if it would improve his chances of escape? As he stood there thinking, the man had stopped and was talking to more of the prisoners. It didn’t take long before the red group had expanded to twelve men and two women. There was one thing they all had in common. They were the fittest and strongest. That one fact scared Spartan more than anything else he had seen or heard in the last hour. They hadn’t selected General Rivers or Marcus as he could see they were still with the rest of the prisoners. Their lack of strength and injuries may have put the man off from selecting them, assuming there wasn’t another reason.

  “What the hell are they planning?” he muttered quietly to himself.

  Two more men in suits arrived and started handing out more of the bands but this time they appeared to be passing them out indiscriminately. As this continued the short man moved to the red group and checked each of them before stopping in the middle.

  “Come with me.” He then turned about and walked away.

  As he left two of the guards went alongside him and another four behind. A few of the red group started to move, then as if one they all walked away in a short, snaking column. They went towards the far side of the cavernous area to a locked bulkhead door about five metres wide. As they approached, the domed security units activated and scanned the group. The short man spoke quietly to the units that immediately turned around, their glowing red eyes watching the prisoners closely. As they were walking past the security system Spartan felt a horrible chill through his body when he noticed one of the red eyes turning to follow him. It was strange but he was convinced it adjusted and altered its focus as it watched him. Nothing happened though and just a short while later they were going uphill along a much more modern corridor. Unlike where they were sleeping, the walls were ribbed with metal and a series of low level lights guided them on their way. Continuing on, they were led up to a point where a bright dot of a light could be seen. As they continued moving Vespis, the man with the whip, called out to them.

  “When you reach your destination, just remember one thing, anyone who tries to leave or refuses to co-operate will be returned to the general population. Do it again and you will be sent to the surface for a little sun bathing.”

  Spartan tried to work out what was ahead but the low light in the corridor, coupled with the bright light in the distance, made it impossible to make out any kind of detail other than that the light was becoming bigger.

  “Where are we going?” asked one of the prisoners, a tall, strong looking man with a series of scars across his chest.

  Spartan looked back, assuming he was talking to the man behind him but when his gaze returned he noticed the man looking at him. Spartan shrugged.

  “Look, man, I’m not stupid. They took the strongest and put us together. From what the guy at the front said we aren’t going to like it.”

  “You’re probably right,” answered Spartan laconically.

  They were now only a short distance away and could see that the light was coming from a large open space that led out from the corridor. As they moved to within twenty metres Spartan spotted the first two guards, both in very heavy armour and equipped full modern rifles. They carried on and he was unsurprised to notice the markings on the armour, the same kind of snake symbol he had seen on the other armoured men. The doors were already open in front of them and in seconds they were all out of the corridor and in a large expanse of probably fifty metres radius. The perimeter and ceiling were masked in blackness, the only light coming from a wide skylight that lit up the centre of the place with a bright white light.

  “Stop!” shouted their leader who then moved back to face them.

  “This room is used as a test area for various subjects. We are looking for the strongest and those with the greatest survival instincts for a special project. It means better living conditions and movement to the re-education centre where you will eventually be placed back into society.”

  “Who put you in charge? Why are we here?” shouted a wide and powerful looking Asian man at the back of the group.

  “It doesn’t matter who we are. You are the prisoners and we are all that stands between life and death for you all. You may leave at any time, just ask for it and you will be taken out and released onto the planet’s surface,” he said as he leered at them.

  “Bastard!” shouted one of the men though he kept down low enough to not be seen.

  “You are all flawed, but you can take this as your opportunity to make amends. Remember...you can leave whenever you want.” With an evil smile he turned to a box that had just risen out of the floor.

  “Inside this box is a random selection of items. In ten minutes you will face a dangerous and deadly challenge. Those of you that survive will stay in the red group and return to your sleeping quarters at the end of the test.”

  There was a deafening silence as they stood in disbelief. Spartan looked about the group and then to their tormentor. “What if we chose to not participate in your test?”

  Vespis simply stood and stared at them for almost half a minute before speaking.

  “It is very, very simple. If you refuse to participate you will rejoin the rest of the prisoners and force a group punishment for breaking the rules.”

  “Screw this, I’m leaving!” shouted a scrawny looking man with long blond hair and thick, muscular arms.

  “Two breaks of the rules and you will be sent to the surface where you will be in the fire of Prometheus!” He lifted his head and hand up high with an odd cackle in his voice.

  “What the hell is this guy’s problem?” muttered Spartan, a few of the others grumbled in agreement.

  “The only other option available to you is to follow through with the test and to fail it. Failure is an option but one I think you might want to avoid!” he laughed and then started to move away.

  “What’s going on here? Hey, you!” shouted an oriental woman who pushed to the front and reached out. She tried to touch the man but two of the armoured guards stepped in to block her path. Spartan grabbed her and pulled her close until her head was pushed up to his chest.

  “Don’t do that,” he whispered, “do you want to burn?”

  The woman pushed away and wiped her brow as she stared at Spartan. Of all them in the open area he was the only one that looked unfazed by what was happening. The man and his guards left quickly, leaving them all stood in the bright light of the high ceiling mounted light burning down to the box in the middle of the room.

  “What is this place?” asked the woman.

  “Looks like a yard to me,” answered one.

  “No way, man, it’s another prison area,” said another.

  “I know what this place is!” said Spartan with a firm tone in his voice.

  As the rest of the group started to move about, Spartan stood his ground and looked down at the floor and the scratches and markings. He knelt down and rubbed his hand on the floor, feeling the deep cuts and imperfections. As he concentrated on the floor the oriental woman approached him. Spartan sensed somebody moving and looked up to see her getting closer. Though her clothes were dirty and ragged he was surprised to see the poise and strength in her figure. He looked up at her pale face. Her ruffled hair ran down to just below the neck where it ended in rough curls. It must have been dyed as it contained streaks of blonde that were not her natu
ral colour.

  “Who are you?”

  “Spartan. Why?”

  She looked back at the rest of them, two were pulling open the box and scattering the items across the floor.

  “You seem to be the only one who doesn’t seem afraid.”

  “You’re wrong there. Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid in this place,” He looked back to the floor. The young woman moved closer and bent down to examine the floor with him. She ran her hands along the cracks and pits in the stone, noticing the residual warmth coming up from the planet’s molten rivers that boiled beneath the surface.

  “What is it?”

  “This place, it’s an arena.” He started to stand up, as he moved she followed until they both stood facing each other.

  “Arena? Like a sports field?”

  “No, like a pit fighting arena.”

  “What did you say?” shouted a tall, dark skinned man. Spartan ignored the man and turned back to the woman.

  “Look, they are going to make us fight something and the only way we’re staying alive is if we win. What’s your name?”

  “Misaki SatM.”

  Spartan nodded and then turned to the rest. Some of them had already taken items from the box and it was a bizarre collection of artefacts. There was a selection of hand tools, axes and metal fittings. One man stood with an axe resting on his shoulder as another two argued over a serrated knife.

  “I used to be a pit fighter, I’ve seen this before. How many of you have combat training?”

  Some ignored him but most turned to answer. It seemed they had a modicum of training, or at least that is what their raised hands told him. Misaki lifted her hand too.

  “You have combat training?” asked Spartan with a raised eyebrow.

  “Why? Can’t a woman know how to fight?” she said with a wicked smile before scuttling over to the box to look for a weapon.

  As she rummaged about she picked out what looked like a piston from the innards of an internal combustion engine. She grasped it by the small part to create an improvised mace. With a little more digging she started to tug at something in the base of the box. Before she was able to remove the object though a great rumble echoed throughout the chamber. At the same time a grinding sound like that of a heavy rock being dragged came from one side of the open area. Misaki fell back from the box, in her hands she grasped what looked like a metre long iron pipe. She steadied herself and called over to Spartan.

  “Hey, Spartan...catch!”

  She tossed the metal pipe and for just a second it looked like it might collide with his head. His reaction was fast enough and he easily caught it, swinging it around for a few test strikes before resting it on his shoulder.

  “Yeah, I thought it might be more your style!” she laughed as she flashed a smile in his direction.

  “I wouldn’t get too excited. If I’m right we’re about to get into something bad, really bad.”

  As if to emphasise his point the grinding stopped to be replaced by the pound of feet as something large and dark approached. Most of the fourteen of them were now carrying objects from the box. Two rushed back to the entrance they had arrived from as the rest stood in silence, each watching for whatever was about to appear before them.

  “Stick together and stay in the light!” shouted Spartan as he moved into the centre.

  Misaki moved ahead and joined him, standing just a metre away to his right.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  From the darkness the shape took form as the thing moved towards them. One of the men, a tall man about the same size and build of Spartan rushed forward with a bar in his hand. He disappeared into the shadows so that the approaching thing and the man merged into a moving shadow. There was just a single crunching sound and the man stumbled back into the light and fell back to the floor.

  Misaki ran to him and rolled the man over. A trickle of blood ran down his face and a dark pool of blood started to form around him. She leaned down and listened for signs of breathing. She shook her head in shock as she looked back to Spartan.

  “He’s dead!” she shouted.

  * * *

  Kowalski sat at his display, idly moving data about and occasionally playing one of the video games he’d secretly brought to the vessel and installed on the system. It was hardly a modern game in fact by any standards it was ancient. The game was based on a security system whereby the player had to rewrite code on the fly to circumvent the computer which was doing the same. It was a test of speed, programming and mental dexterity. Though the language it used was obsolete it did keep his mind active and the basic algorithms were sound.

  “Come on, come on!” he shouted as streams of data rushed down the screen.

  The computer player had managed to breach his final firewall and data was pouring from his servers. His fingers darted about on the touch based screens as he moved blocks of code into place and ran a series of subroutines that damaged the scrambled outgoing data as he attempted to repair the breach. A box popped up in the middle of the display and the game paused, the race against time now stopped until he was ready to resume.

  “No way!” he muttered as he read the subject of the message before turning to the intercom.

  “Commander, we’ve got a Fleet transmission, looks like they’ve found something.”

  There was a short pause before the groggy and tired voice of Commander Anderson returned on the speaker system.

  “Understood, be there in sixty seconds. Get the rest of the crew in, we all need to see this.”

  “Affirmative.” Kowalski hit a button to change the transmission to ship wide. “Kowalski here. We have a Fleet transmission regarding our mission. Please meet in the control centre immediately. This looks important, out.”

  As he replaced the handset he looked at the heading of the message and tried to imagine what they might have found. He was tempted to view the message but it required an access code that although he had, it would immediately let the Commander know he had read it first. He sat, staring into the screen as the Commander arrived.

  “Kowalski, thought you’d have had it decoded and read by now,” he said smiling.

  “Well, it is addressed for your eyes only, Sir.”

  The Commander leaned in to read the text of the message before entering in his hex based security code. It took a few seconds for each of the layers to be removed before it was displayed in all its detail. As well as a message from Admiral Jarvis it included several dossier documents with attached images and videos. Bishop and Teresa arrived almost at the same time and pulled themselves into position around the display.

  “What have we got?” Bishop asked.

  “Any news on Spartan?” added Teresa.

  Commander Anderson looked at a few more of the documents before turning back to them.

  “It is interesting. From the data we sent them they have matched it to other intel and come up with three possible leads. The main one though is to do with this man, Maximilian Hex. He’s a smuggler and slaver known to work in these waters. The lead points to a shipment of slaves and high value prisoners being sent to Prometheus. There isn’t an exact location but data from patrols in that area show increased numbers of ships around the planet.”

  Bishop looked at some of the information, specifically the dossier on Hex.

  “I don’t see why they are so sure this guy is the one we need to find. So he deals in slaves, so do hundreds of traders through the System.”

  “For a starter look at the numbers of ships recorded moving to Prometheus. There has been a forty per cent increase in the last three weeks. Most of these vessels are unflagged and not on our system.”

  “True, Sir, but couldn’t they be refugees from the colonies that have seceded? There must be hundreds of thousands of displaced people?” asked Kowalski.

  “There is one more piece of information from an informant on board a transport near Prometheus. He hasn’t seen the prisoners but he did hear a rumour about one of the ships th
at arrived from Kerberos in the last week. He said a group of prisoners managed to fight their way out of their cells and killed a large number of security people.”

  “Bishop didn’t look convinced but Anderson continued.

  “Well, it’s the only recorded time that anyone has managed to escape on board a slave or prison ship. There was one other thing...a number of those killed was in close quarter combat.”

  “Close quarter? That sounds like Spartan!” said Teresa with a growing smile.

  “Give me the details, I’ll run it through the local net and the Prometheus trading markets and see if I can come up with some leads,” said Kowalski.

  He leaned forward and started to move windows of data around the displays. At first he checked public markets and news stories, then law enforcements bulletins and coastguard and customs data. There was so much material whizzing about that the rest of them finally gave up trying to track his progress. Then he stopped, a single window with a blurred photograph and a few lines of text showing.

  “There he is!”

  “You crazy bastard!” laughed Bishop as he ruffled Kowalski’s hair.

  “Look, it says here that he has a public sale of licensed armour and tooling on the Prometheus Seven Trading Post for the next ten days.”

  “No way, it takes months to make that trip. You know, the storms. You have to plot a new navigation route every time you head for the place.”

  “Yeah, it’s true. Bishop’s right about the storms,” said a miserable Teresa.

  “Not true!”

  They all looked at Kowalski who simply ignored them, he was far too absorbed in the details of Hex and his business dealings on Prometheus. It must have been fascinating because Commander had already called out his name three times before he responded.

  “Uh, yeah?” he asked, looking a little confused.

  “Prometheus. What isn’t true?”

  “Oh, right, well...the storms and the routes used by civilian and military traffic. You can bypass the lot and cut the trip to about four days.”

  Bishop looked at the Commander, who appeared less than convinced, and then back at Kowalski who sat there looking calm and collected.