Terminus Project: Mars (Dystopian Child Prodigy SciFi)

by Casey Herzog

  “Commander, we have our grenades. They might be our only hope for breaking their ranks.” Peter gave the suggestion, fully expecting to be shot down.

  “That's stupid, Crater face. We'd never get close enough to throw one without their archers getting us.”

  “I have to agree, Peter. Even if we give our grenadier shield cover, we'll likely never get a grenade through their shield wall.”

  Peter gripped the handle of his spear a little tighter. He knew he had to keep a cool head, but being shot down by Alphred, as well as Michael and the others, was a harder wound to ignore than the bruises on his leg.

  “Well, I don't hear anyone else giving suggestions. In case you've forgotten, we've got... six minutes. So what if it's a bust? Better than sitting here for four minutes talking strategy.” Minerva's voice cutting in to the argument came as a relief. He did not think it would be enough to sway the group, though.

  Silence filled the coms again, and Peter rolled his eyes. He waited for another verbal smack down.

  “Michael, Colin, move to our position. All other active combatants who can do so, form ranks: shields front, grenadiers behind.”

  “We're really going to do this?” Michael's voice on the com was incredulous.

  “It is as Peter says, we only have time to commit to one final push. We have to try.” Alphred began to move forward. Disengaging his boots from the hull, his thrusters bore him forward.

  Peter followed behind, his own movement a little more jerky and unrefined. Six others, the remaining survivors of the engagement, soon joined them. Though no one could see, Peter found himself smiling as the tallest of their group drew alongside him. He felt far safer with Minerva by his side.

  A private audio window opened up on his coms. Peter looked around, then opened it up. “You doing okay? I saw that fall.” It was Minerva.

  “I'm still standing; that's more than can be said for some.”

  “Ha-ha, yeah. Well, let's hope your plan works. I'll keep you shielded the entire time.”

  “Form rank, and move forward. Grenadiers, do not waste your ammo. Look for an opening.”

  Peter disconnected the private feed and began to march in step with the remnants of his unit. Minerva moved just ahead of him, her tower shield raised to keep herself and him safe from the enemy's ordnance.

  “What if they use their grenades?” Michael's question over the com brought fresh pause from the advancing group.

  “Use your thrusters to disengage.” Alphred’s answer was simple, and Michael could be heard taking a sharp breath in response. The entire team was irritated.

  It was hard to see. The suits’ lights only gave so much information, and Peter had to rely on intuition as he moved behind his shield. From time to time, he could see reflected light off the shields of their foe. It gave him a good idea as to where he needed to throw his grenades. He prepared himself, holding the device in his hand and visualizing himself as a pitcher in a baseball game. He continued to advance at a steady pace, wanting to be just a meter or so closer. Arrows began to fly from the circle of enemies ahead. Peter caught the glint of a few shoot past him, the vast majority bouncing harmlessly off Minerva's shield.

  “Grenade out!” The shout came from Michael.

  “Idiot! What the hell was that?”

  Peter risked a glancing look sideways. Michael had thrown his grenade, but made one fatal error. Whether the nerves of battle had gotten to him, or he was simply dense, he had forgotten just where he was. He threw his grenade up into the air, seemingly expecting it to arc downward and land amongst the enemy. Instead, the orb kept travelling, flying further and further outward until it blew, high above both groups.

  “Shields high!” Alphred gave the order, but not everyone heard it. Peter lifted his own shield upward, covering both himself and Minerva from the shower of pellets raining down on them from their own grenade. Others weren't so fluid in their execution. Looking right, Peter grimaced as two of their troop lifted their shields upward, seeming to forget about the volley of arrows coming at them from their horizontal axis. In a moment, their numbers were reduced to four as their cohort’s own grenade turned against them.

  “We need to break! Break now!” The order didn't come from Alphred. It was Colin. He engaged his thrusters at once, breaking right as he bowled out his own grenade into the enemy. It was a better throw, but still thrown blind. The orb bounced off the shields of the enemy, blowing shrapnel that was harmlessly absorbed.

  “Screw it. Minerva cover me a moment.” All bets were off now. Alphred's orders were not forth coming, his ability to read the combat degrading with every passing second. Peter wasn't going to wait for inspiration to strike. Now was do or die.

  “Peter?” Minerva's voice was concerned, and she turned her head in time to see Peter priming a grenade in his hand.

  “I'm gonna ram ‘em, be ready to use the opening.” Holding the grenade tightly, Peter pressed on his suit’s thrusters. His body propelled forward like a bullet. Minerva barely had time to get out of the way. Peter knew he'd die; there was no getting out of it. The mission was a bust. All he could hope was that his action might redeem his cohort.

  At the last moment, Peter closed his eyes. Pain followed. It was worse than the impact he'd taken on his knee. His skull rattled around inside his helmet, and Peter almost let go of the grenade as he cannonballed into the shield of his foe. It was enough. As Peter crashed into the awaiting tower shield, he could feel his adversary being carried by the impact into the center of his squad. At the same moment, Peter heard the ping from his grenade.

  For the rest of the exercise, Peter was forced to remain in place, his mag boots keeping him connected to the hull. He kept himself laid out, hands gripping the hull plating as he waited for things to finish. Around him were the five members of the Neptune Cohort he had managed to take with him in his suicide run. It had dispersed the group, but it was not enough to secure victory. The twenty or so members of the cohort left alive would easily finish off Michael, Minerva and Alphred. He recited the words to a favorite song on the charts shortly before leaving Earth. He was on the final verse when his communicator came alive again.

  “Live trial complete. All participants return to the airlock for debriefing.”

  All at once, Peter's suit came alive. Fresh com channels were opened as the combatants from both sides were put in touch. Predictably, it was Alphred who had to get the first words in.

  “Commander Buzz, congratulations, a masterful defence.”

  “Yeah, because defending thirty men to twelve is hard to do.”

  Peter ignored Michael's comment. He looked up as a hand reached down to help him up. The member of Neptune Cohort gave him a pat on his shoulder as the two began to use their thrusters to move back to the airlock.

  It took a while for everyone to collect at the airlock, and even longer for the cohorts to extricate themselves from their suits. Peter was grateful to have his helmet off. He felt far too hot and wiped beads of sweat from his brow. Though the Unity's air wasn't exactly fresh, it still felt far cleaner to breath than the recycled air in the suit. When he ran a hand through his hair, it felt as if he had been through a storm. His face wrinkled in disgust and he shook his hand to try and get some of the sweat out. A laugh next to him caught his attention.

  “It's not often I'm happy about being a baldy, but seeing you makes me feel an awful lot better about it.” Minerva giggled as she peeled out of the last layers of her suit.

  “Oh, get a room why don't you, or better yet take it outside the airlock so we can leave you there.”

  Minerva's eyes widened and she turned to Michael, a scowl on her face. “Hey, what is your problem?”

  “Oh, let's use grenades, that'll break their rank and give us an opening. Next time why don't you just keep your trap shut Crater Face; you're not the commander of this cohort.” Michael left his suit in a heap on the floor, marching right in front of Peter so their faces were almost touching.

 
Peter sucked in a breath and clenched his fist. He was determined not to rise to Michael's words, but it was hard. He couldn't just walk away like on Earth, couldn't go up onto the roof or go into the gardens. Michael, Colin, all of them, were with him for every moment of the day now. His eyes remained locked with Michael for a moment, no one around them daring to interfere. Then, out of the blue, Peter blinked and turned his head away, carrying on changing as though nothing had happened.

  It seemed like the corridor took a collective sigh. Then, in an instant, the relief that had fallen was smashed apart. Just as Peter returned his attention to his suit, Michael took a swing at him, his fist smacking into the scarred side of Peter's face. It came as a complete surprise. No matter how ugly things had gotten with his teammates in the past, no matter how many jibes and jeers he had been made to endure, no one in his cohort had tried to punch him.

  Peter hissed as he brought his right hand to his face. He touched his cheek, almost unsure if Michael had really hit him. He tasted blood in his mouth. A crease formed on his forehead and he snarled. Thought escaped him. His body acted on instinct as he threw a punch of his own. It was far more forceful and sent Michael reeling back into the wall.

  There was no chance for things to escalate further. All at once, the members of Neptune Cohort leapt into action: four of them worked to separate Peter and Michael and forcefully restrained them. Peter could only groan as the red mist that had taken hold dissipated. He would suffer for what he just done. Still, he could not regret it. He'd wanted to strike back for years, and it felt like a load had been lifted off his shoulders. He didn't even try to resist the two guys holding him back. He just relaxed his body and waited for the inevitable.

  CHAPTER 12

  Peter took his time dressing. The Unity's duty uniforms were nothing special, grey, nondescript, zip up suits that sported the Earth League logo and a division number. Even so, he managed to find a way to extend the business of climbing into his suit and doing it up. He was not looking forward to the first item on today’s duty roster. While the rest of Pluto Cohort checked the Unity's water recycling processes, he and Minerva were to attend a meeting of the commanders. It was the first major meeting of all division leaders and would deal with the readiness of each cohort for operations. Considering what he had heard at his own team meeting the other evening, Peter couldn't imagine Pluto Cohort receiving any words of kindness from Admiral Gayle or the other Chiefs.

  With Michael in week-long solitary confinement for striking him, and Peter himself lucky to get off with only a warning, it seemed Pluto Cohort were the perfect picture of discord. There was also the matter of the results from their combat test against Neptune Cohort.

  Alphred had already left the dorms for the mess. He was always over punctual, and Peter imagined the Commander would be the first at the meeting room door.

  After dressing and splashing a little water on his face, Peter stepped out into the corridor to find Minerva lingering about. "Hey Min, ready to get our asses chewed by the chiefs?"

  "You don't think it will go well then?" Minerva took a deep breath, chest swelling under her crossed arms. Her usual smile looked strained, and Peter could tell she was nervous.

  "I can't see it being pretty. Let’s be honest, we're hardly liked by the rest of the team." Peter scratched the back of his head. "Though you have an easy way out of it."

  Minerva cocked her head as she began to walk with him in the direction of the mess hall. "I don't see what you mean, unless you're going to tell me to get a wig to fit in better with the girls."

  Peter laughed at that. He debated keeping his mouth shut, but found he could not. "I don't know if you've noticed, but a lot of the bad blood the team has against you is because you spend a lot of time with me."

  Minerva gave a slow nod, looking away from him as a blush rose to her cheek. "Yeah, I kind of noticed that. I'm not that vacant you know."

  Peter turned, studying her shy look with some confusion. "So why do you do it then? You're the second in command of Pluto Cohort. I would have thought you'd put that ahead of making friends. We're all supposed to put the mission first after all."

  Minerva's eyes finally met Peter's once more. They didn't waver. She gazed at him with a look he took for defiance. "I know what the chiefs want. I don't have to agree with it though. So what if I happen to prefer certain company from among the cohort? You’re more real and honest than the others, and I admire that."

  "Yeah, that, and I was your childhood hero growing up." Peter grinned as he noticed Minerva's blush grow again.

  She shoved him with her shoulder. "Don't go teasing me with that Peter. I like you because you don't get hung up on what I am. I've never seen you make a deal about my bald head, or my spider body."

  "Well, I'm hardly one to point the finger at someone for their looks." It wasn't often Peter could let himself joke about his scarred face. He thought back to Nisha's joke in the combat room. He didn't like the others assuming his friendship with Minerva stemmed from their shared oddities. Still, it did give them something in common. He wondered if he should have responded so strongly to the issue. He didn't have time to think about this now though; there was something more important that needed addressing.

  "Minerva, do you think things would be easier for us both if we stepped down from our command positions? I'm not saying the others wouldn't continue giving us a hard time, but it might make things easier."

  The Martian began to rub her arms as though cold. Her face turned to the wall once more. "I had been thinking something similar. If...If I'm being one hundred percent honest, I have even been thinking about what happens when we get to Mars base."

  Peter didn't like her evasive body language. "Why, what have you been thinking?"

  "My parents are still on Mars. I know the chiefs wouldn't like it, but I was thinking about pulling out of the mission."

  "You're quitting on me?" Peter felt a chill go through him, and his body stopped moving.

  Minerva bit her bottom lip, turning around to face him. Her eyes looked past, verifying they were still alone. and whispered "You could leave too, you know. If the chiefs think we're doing a bad job, we could both request to leave the program."

  This was not a thing they should be speaking of or entertaining. The Unity's mission was the single most important priority for mankind. Its crew were heroes to the people of Earth, and it would not look good for the mission if its members began to drop out on a whim. Still, it was a tempting thought.

  "Let’s get through this meeting first Min, see what the chiefs have to say. Never know, they may ask us to hand in our uniforms anyway."

  Minerva nodded, and the two began to walk together again. A smile grew on Peter's lips though, and he couldn't resist asking one last question, "So, if we did get off at Mars, were you thinking of asking me to live with you?"

  Minerva's blush returned, hotter than ever, and she gave her answer by hitting him on the arm. "You're an ass."

  In the meeting room, the other cohort commanders and chiefs of staff were already assembled. It was an inauspicious start, arriving last. Peter and Minerva dropped their smiles and put on serious expressions, Minerva mumbling an apology as they took seats near to Alphred. They were not actually late for the meeting, but with everyone else seated and ready to begin, they may as well have been.

  Alphred wore his usual poker face, but Peter felt he could detect a slight tension in his commander’s muscles as he shuffled his papers about. He made no comment to either of his subordinates, but he didn't have to. The smirks of the other cohort commanders were enough to show he should feel embarrassed.

  Admiral Gayle looked as impatient as ever. His elbows rested on the table, and his fingers tented as he waited for the meeting to begin. "Are we ready to begin this meeting now? Cohort Commanders, we will be hearing from all staff chiefs on your cohorts’ work and training. Some will be brief, others not." Peter couldn't be sure if the Admiral shot Alphred a look at that moment or if it was o
nly his imagination. "Commander Norma, let's start with you. All the reports I have read regarding Jupiter Cohort have been more than satisfactory. All duties performed to a high standard; good unit cohesion; excellent training and simulation testing; there are no areas of concern at all. You and your team must be very proud."

  Norma was one of two girls to lead cohorts. She ran a hand through her short red hair, unable to resist a proud grin forming on her face. Her own second and third seemed to share in her enthusiasm as they risked fist bumps that were not in keeping with the seriousness of the meeting.

  Admiral Gayle's expression remained serious. It served as a strong reminder to Norma and her subordinates to check their behavior. "Thank you, Admiral. I will be sure to keep up the standard we have set."

  "I am pleased to hear it. Unless you have any particular concerns about your cohort, you and your team can go and attend to your business."

  Norma turned to her team, both of whom shared their advice in hushed whispers. They were the picture of perfect unity. Norma listened to her aides’ advice, and they in turn seemed confident to share their thoughts with her. They served to highlight the total disconnect Peter felt with his commander.