by Casey Herzog
“I've never known much different. Honestly, I feel I fit in more on the Unity than anywhere else in my life.” Peter scratched at the scar on his face. “Is this because of being...you know... a Martian?”
“Partly.” Minerva shrugged her shoulders and let out a sigh. “I mean, I won't pretend I don't notice the stares I get from people, or the whispering behind my back...the awkwardness that comes from being thirteen years old and the tallest member of the Unity crew.” She turned her head, her blue green eyes looking at Peter with more seriousness. “But I don't want you thinking it is just that making me think twice about staying on this mission. I was able to push those comments and dirty looks aside. What worries me is what we're actually doing here.”
“How do you mean?” Alphred chimed in from behind, quickening his pace so that he could talk in a more hushed tone.
“It's been going on ever since Peter was assaulted in the training hall. It's hard to explain, but it's just a feeling of unease. Someone attacked Peter, and for all the equipment on board, all the surveillance and monitoring, no culprit was found. You may think you made gains by playing on the cohort’s sympathy afterwards. I know...” Minerva paused for a moment, as though struggling to force her words out. “I know I was jealous of that too. But more importantly, it bugged me that the whole thing was allowed to blow over. Do you really feel safe on that ship after what happened?”
Peter grimaced and felt his fingers flexing. He tried to answer Minerva, but couldn't.
“Anyway, this is the rec room. Either of you any good at table tennis?” Minerva changed the subject quickly, seeming eager to move away from the issue.
For about an hour, the three of them loitered around the room. It was nothing special. There was table tennis a pool table, a TV set, sofas and a selection of board games. Though Peter would have loved to have seen such luxuries aboard the Unity, he was quick to notice the dilapidated state of the equipment in the room. The felt on the pool table was heavily stained, and the cues worn down to the metal. The table tennis bats had lost their rubber padding and the TV and gaming units were ancient. The sofa cushions were worn to nothing. The board games too were obviously well used, the folds of each board worn down and playing pieces similarly smoothed over constant play.
Worming his body on the sofa in an effort to find a comfortable angle, Peter watched as Minerva thoroughly outclassed their commander at the pool table. “Has your station command ever thought of requesting new equipment for this place?”
Minerva didn't answer right away, concentrating on making her next shot. She pocketed two balls, then stood straight. “All requisitioned items cost fuel,” she said. Her voice sounded like she was repeating some well-remembered speech. “Whenever you send an order to Earth for any item you are asking for far more than the item itself.” She pointed her cue toward the sofa. “On Earth, that sofa would cost maybe...two hundred, three hundred dollars, new. It's nothing fancy. However, bring it into space, and you're adding a wealth of hidden costs. First there is shipping to a space center. Then, you need to account for the cost of fuel needed to take it into orbit. Add on to that additional fuel and man power as it gets loaded at Earth Gate onto an auto freighter...suddenly, a simple request for a new sofa becomes a business worth tens of thousands of dollars.”
Peter frowned and felt the sad, destroyed cushion. Alphred stopped trying to align his shot and considered the room more carefully. “Surely Earth cannot be so miserly though? I'll be the first to admit there are limitations to the luxuries that can be afforded out here, but still.”
“Food luxuries are by far the easiest to transport out. We get enough that we don't go mad from eating the same old hydroponic grown radishes and grubs for every meal.”
Peter nodded, but still didn't feel entirely satisfied with Minerva's answer. He was about to probe her for more information on what living on the station was like, but was interrupted.
A light switch in the corner of the rec. room suddenly turned on, suffusing the room in an ominous red glow. There was no audible siren or alarm. Alphred, Minerva and Peter tensed, waiting for some kind of call to come out over the communicator.
A hoarse, doubtful voice came over the speaker after a few moments. “Emergency, emergency; secessionist terror attack on hab-deck two. All medical personnel please get to the mess hall, on duty off duty, everyone.” There was a sound of scuffling as the voice over the intercom went silent. Peter looked to Minerva. She was like some wild animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, unsure just what she should do.
All of a sudden, a new voice came over the speaker. “Attention all members of Mars and Jupiter Cohort.” It was the Armstrong of Mars Cohort. “Division leaders scour your floors immediately for any suspicious devices or equipment. All members of Mars Station please return to your dwellings immediately. The station will be put into lock down in five minutes. I repeat, all station doors will be locked down in five minutes and there will be serious repercussions for those caught outside of their designated living areas.” There was another silence, and Peter thought he could hear whispering in the background. Then, the commander came on again. “This lock down does not apply to medical personnel; medical personnel continue to move towards second hab-block mess hall to treat injured.”
The com went quiet. Peter and Minerva both remained in place, uncertain just how to act under the situation. Alphred was quicker. Laying his pool cue neatly on the table he looked to his squad mates expectantly. “What are you waiting for? We need to get to the hab-block now.”
“The Commander said we should return to quarters. That's where my parent's-.”
“We are Unity crew. This is our mission.” Alphred's voice was stern and certain. “Why did we come out here if not for this? No, we should head to the hab-block first as it is closer. I do not know what good we can do, but at the least we can help look after the wounded. I'll get in touch with the Commander and see if we can be of any further assistance.”
Peter stood and walked over to Minerva. He put his hand on her shoulder, not minding how high he had to stretch to do so. “Are you okay?”
Minerva turned to look at him. Her eyes were wet and seemed to harbor no understanding or recognition of him. “This is my home...” She took a deep, shuddering breath.
Forgetting Alphred for a moment, Peter squeezed Minerva's shoulder, hoping his grip would communicate his presence to her. “Hey, I'm here Min. Let's go to the hab-block and see what we can do to help, yes?”
Minerva nodded. “Yeah, okay...I'm good. Sorry Commander.”
Alphred was by the door, eager to underway. “It's not a problem. Just focus on your duty. We need to help however we can here.”
“Yes. I'm with you.” Minerva began to follow Alphred out of the door, Peter taking up the rear.
The mood in the station had changed beyond recognition. Where only an hour ago, Peter had been charmed by the relaxed nature of the station, it was now a place of commotion and fear. Bodies pushed passed him on the corridor, folk bounding to the safety of their rooms before the five-minute curfew came in to effect.
The guards of Mars and Saturn Cohorts, silent sentinels before, were now threatening shepherds, goading the panicked crew to compliance. Peter stalled in his tracks as he watched one zealous member of the cohort admonishing the crowd moving past him. “Keep in an orderly file, do not make me tell you again.” The guard had his shield raised and his spear gripped tightly in hand. When one of the station’s crew tried to push past in another direction, the guard brought his spear down, stopping the man forcibly in his tracks. “You heard the Commander, return to your billet at once. No exceptions.”
“But you don't understand, the engine rooms have been vacated too. If there is a secessionist attack-.”
“-The Unity and Mars Cohort will deal with it; that is why we are here. Now return to your billet at once. If I have to warn you again, I will have you arrested under suspicion of secessionist activity.”
; The man balked and looked about him, hoping perhaps for some back up from his colleagues. None came. The rest of the station’s population were willing, frightened sheep and weren't about to argue with the orders they had been given. With no means to fight back, the engineer turned about and followed the others, the guard from Mars Cohort shooting him with a steely look as he shuffled away.
Meanwhile, Alphred was coming against a roadblock of his own. As he and Minerva struggled against the tide of people coming at them, he struggled to get the Commander of Mars over the intercom. Either the commander was busy, or was refusing to answer. In the end, Alphred hailed the Unity instead.
“Unity Command, Unity Command, please respond. This is commander Alphred Armstrong Pluto Cohort.”
There was a silence over his communicator and both he and Minerva stared at the device, willing for someone to give them definite orders. Walking with their heads bowed low, they didn't see the blockade of spears looking to catch them.
“Hey, all crew and personnel-.”
Peter dived in before the guard could admonish them further. “-It's alright...Look at our uniforms. He grabbed the badge on his suit chest and thrust it forward for the guard to inspect. “You see, Unity... We're Pluto Cohort.”
The guard continued to eye them suspiciously. It was strange to see. Though Peter had never talked to the man before, he knew his face at least. Surely he must recognize them as well?
“We're trying to raise your commander for orders. He likely is not aware we are aboard. Can we please pass to assist the medical staff in the mess hall? There was another pause and for a moment Peter felt sure they were going to be refused access.
“Go on. I'll radio my section officer that you're coming.” The guard lifted his spear, much to Peter's relief.
Minerva wasted no time in slipping by, running forward down the more deserted stretch of corridor.
Alphred called after her. “Wait.” He watched as she kept on running. Something had gotten in to her. Alphred looked back to the guard momentarily. “Try to raise your commander, or the commander of Jupiter Cohort. Let them know we're here and willing to assist.”
Peter glanced back at the guard one last time as he followed Alphred. The man still held his spear and shield firmly in hand still monitoring everyone who passed him by with the utmost suspicion.
Coming closer to the mess hall, the strong smell of smoke assailed Peter's nostrils. The smell was doubly potent owing to the fact that his mind knew it shouldn't exist here. His senses were not being duped though, and soon he spied black plumes coming out from a side door. He knew without having to look at any sign they had arrived at the mess. He had not seen Minerva go inside, but he had no doubt she would have done so. His mind filled with terrible visions of what might have happened, and he found his steps becoming slower and more reluctant as they moved to assist the crew of Mars Station.
All lights in the hall were out. Beams shot out from the torches of the station’s small medical team, as well as from members of Mars and Jupiter Cohorts who were securing the room. Small fires crackled here and there, but these were mostly out. Uncertain sounds could be heard all about. There were the moans and grunts of the wounded competing against the calls and orders from the rescue staff. Though there was plenty he could have done to help in that moment, Peter found himself rooted to the spot, peering through the gloom to find Minerva. She had definitely entered the space, but he could not see her among the rescuers.
“Alphred, do you have a torch?”
The commander came to his side, and Peter could hear him make a sharp noise of disapproval as he surveyed the scene. “Looks like an incendiary device. Crude and powerful. We should consider ourselves lucky the blast didn't manage to tear through the hull.”
Peter nudged Alphred in the side to prevent him from analyzing further. “I just said, do you have a torch?”
“What? No.” Alphred was in that place of disconnect that seemed to always come so readily to him. “If you want to help, go talk to one of the medical advisors or one of our crew.”
“No, I'm trying to find Min!” Peter spoke louder than he probably ought, his voice carrying over the other sounds in the darkened hall.
“I'm over here.” Relief washed over Peter to hear her voice and he moved forward cautiously, his foot occasionally connecting with a broken chair and other unknown and softer matter that he tried not to think about.
“Min. Min is that you?” Peter could make out the silhouette of someone squatting in the center of the room. He could not be certain because of the other noises, but he could swear she was sobbing.
“Yeah...It's...it's...” Min did not have the power to finish her sentence. Instead, her arms groped out blindly in the dark. When they found Peter, she clung tightly to him, arms wrapping about his lower back. On her knees, she pressed her face into his torso. She was definitely crying. Peter could hear it clearly now, could feel her body shaking from the vibrations as she sobbed into him.
“Min... What is it, what's happened?” Peter didn't know how to act in that moment. Even as he put his own hands to her head, he was cautious, like he might break her if he held her too hard.
Min didn't answer him. She just buried her face deeper into his suit, her sobs and cries absorbed by the material.
Another silhouette pulled alongside them. Peter strained his eyes, trying to tell if it was Alphred or someone else. The shadowy form knelt down alongside Minerva and put an arm slowly about her shoulder.
“Minerva...It's Alphred. What's happened? Do you want us to bring you back out onto the corridor?”
“No...” Her voice was muffled but there was a certainty to her answer. “No, I'm not leaving.”
Peter felt relief as the arms that held his waist so tightly loosened. Looking down, he watched as the form of Minerva fell back over the floor. “I'm not leaving you Mum.”
Realization dawned, and Peter felt a chill pass through him. His mind recalled in perfect clarity that face so much like her daughter’s and yet so different too. She had stepped out of the room to give him and Alphred time alone with Minerva....Had she come here? Time in the mess hall with friends?” Peter felt his stomach tightening into knots as his imagination joined the array of dots to reveal the gruesome truth.
Slowly, Peter knelt down, putting his arms over Minerva's shoulder, pulling gently, encouraging her to come up from the floor. “Come on. You can't stay here like this. Your father will be back in the hab-block. You should see him. You can't-.”
“-Just get off me!” Minerva lashed out, arms catching both Peter and Alphred as she desperately fought to remain where she was.
Peter was caught off balance by the sudden strike and could not help falling backward. In the dark, he could not tell what he had landed on, but it hurt. He let out a hiss of pain and clutched his back, rolling over onto his side and gripping his back.
“Peter?” Minerva's voice came out uncertain and childlike. It was in an entirely different quality to what it had been a moment before.
“I'm okay. Just fell on a bit of a chair, I think.” Peter could still see Alphred's silhouette at Minerva's side. The lights from a few torches shone in their direction, attracted by the ruckus they were making.
“Come on Tharis. We need to get you out of here for a moment. Think of your father. He'll want to know what's happened. There are people we need to help. Do you understand?”
The bright sterile light of a torch hovered over Minerva's face. Peter could see the sparkle of teardrops that had fallen in twin rivulets down her cheek. She did not answer Alphred, but allowed him to pick her up to her feet. Just seeing that allowed him to breathe a sigh of relief. Rolling onto his feet, he picked himself up, wincing as he felt something sharp under his palm. Alphred was already escorting Minerva from the room, and Peter limped silently behind.
Back in the corridor, surrounded once more by bright light and order, Peter wondered if what they had seen had been some mad illusion. It was as if the hor
ror of the mess hall was its own singular pocket of reality, a miniature hell distinct from all else that was right and normal.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he watched Minerva slump against the corner wall. He feared her legs would give out on her, but she found the strength to remain upright. Her cheeks were still tear stained and the veins in her eyes were clearly visible. Still, she was no longer crying. She was no longer making noise of any kind except for breathing. She took deep gasps of air, occasionally coughing as wafts of smoke continued to assail her. He was not sure how to approach her, if he even should. He moved to her side, resting against the wall and looking at his palm. He had cut it.
