Terminus Project: Mars (Dystopian Child Prodigy SciFi)

by Casey Herzog

  Peter took a deep breath, not liking what he was about to say. “We jump.”

  For the second time, the mask of vengeance Minerva wore slipped and she turned about in her seat, momentarily disconnected from her focus. “Are you crazy?”

  “No crazier than the girl whose answer to every problem is to crash into it at high speed.”

  Minerva bit her lip, eyes slipping to the ground as she considered Peter's words.

  The intercom sounded again. “Peter, do you know how close you're going to need to fly to that shuttle to make a jump onto it. Even the slightest miscalculation in your shuttle's trajectory-.”

  “-Will be no different than ramming the ship as Minerva's suggested.” Alphred unbuckled himself from his seat as he spoke, handing complete control of the shuttle to Minerva. “Keep her on target. I'm going to help Peter get ready and then launch him.”

  “Wait, you're not coming with me?” Peter could already feel his face turning white at the prospect of making the jump alone. Somehow, he didn't think he could do it without his commander with him.

  “You'll be fine, you've done this before.” Alphred patted him on the back in a manner that was meant to be reassuring. “Just engage your magnetic locks as soon as you connect with the hull.”

  Peter looked at his commander in horror, hardly able to grasp the situation. He was going to be launched alone. How was he to take control of the ship and the terrorist aboard her?

  “Commander, are you sure about this? Surely you should go too.” Minerva called back again, risking another glance backwards. Her eyes had lost their murderous sheen.

  “It's nothing personal,” Alphred assured. The strangest thing was the Peter really believed it. Alphred didn't seem capable of doing anything out of maliciousness. “I need to consider the wider mission. Pluto Cohort needs its commander for the duration.”

  “Right; I'm expendable, got it.” Peter grimaced. “You know we don't have any weapons right.”

  Alphred looked about then floated over to a corner closet in the open storage area. “Crowbar?”

  Peter sighed and shook his head. “It'll do. Don't have time to find anything better. How close are we to the shuttle?”

  “We'll be passing her in three minutes.” Minerva's voice was strained. “I need to focus, but you better not mess this up Peter. I'm not going to lose my mum and my friend in the same day.”

  Peter looked to the cockpit. Minerva's full attention was on her piloting, but he could feel the sincerity in her words.

  Alphred was by the airlock door. Already in their suits, there was no need to worry with opening the door to the vacuum. Peter knew he was meant to float over to that yawning chasm, preparing to push off into that void without any reassurance.

  “You're going to be fine.” Alphred kept close to Peter, a hand on his back, as though to prevent him from backing out.

  “You're going to push me out of the door, right?” Peter gripped his crowbar as he watched the yawning maw of space move about him. The shuttle was just coming into view.

  “Would you like me to?”

  Peter found himself nodding. “Yeah, better than me going myself. I'll only screw it up.” He leant his head out the airlock, looking at the fast approaching hull of the shuttle. Minerva really was coming in close. He still had to make a leap though.

  “Okay. Hull plate is coming into view. Minerva keep her steady!” Alphred shouted the order even though they could hear perfectly well via their suits’ communicators. “Peter, I'm going to give you a push in ten, be ready to engage your magnets when you hit their hull. You got one shot at this.”

  Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could hear Alphred counting down. He started at seven, and each number seemed to come slower and slower from the commander's mouth. He tried to remind himself just why he was doing this. He wanted motivation that would propel him forward, that would make him want to risk himself the way he was about to. His body, his sense of self-preservation demanded to know just why he was about to go through with this plan alone. It disturbed Peter most to reflect that he had no idea just why he was doing this. He wasn't doing it for Earth, for the Unity. The realization made his body feel cold. If he had felt small when staring at the eternal void of space before, he felt ten times smaller now. He was no longer a human staring out at the abyss; he was an ant.

  CHAPTER 19

  Peter felt the push on his back. Though he did not want to, he let his body be propelled forward. He had to open his eyes now. If he didn't, he would never be able to stick the landing on the craft alongside him. It was hard. His eyelids felt like great steel doors that had been welded shut. They did not want to budge and forcing them open was painful. However, the moment he succeeded, Peter's eyes widened in terror. He was already about to hit his target.

  As the shuttle moved forward, Peter hit its metal hull. He had tried to engage the electromagnets on his boots, but his impact with the hull sent his hands instinctively to his gut. He clenched his side and hissed as he watched the shuttle carrying on without him. If he didn't do something, anything, both shuttles would leave him behind, adrift.

  In desperation, Peter threw out slashed at the passing metal hull with his crowbar. By some miracle, the curved end connected with something and he felt the rest of his body being dragged along with the ship. He took the weapon with both hands, not daring to let go.

  “Peter? Peter we've lost visual on you, did you make the connection?” It was Alphred. His voice was worried and uncertain, and soon, Minerva and Nisha were joining in his chorus.

  Ignoring the pleas for a report, Peter focused on steadying his ground. Making sure that his grip on the hull was still secure, he let go of the crowbar with one hand and engaged the electro magnets on his boots. His body lurched as his legs suddenly took on a life of their own. In an instant, his body was flung into a backwards arch. He groaned, feeling his muscles and spine complain at the unusual and sudden contortions it was being put through. Peter ignored it. The fear of being thrown from the ship was a greater and more pressing concern. Only when he was certain that his feet were not going to give way did he let go of the crow bar and allow his body to right itself.

  His ears rang with the constant pleas for updates. Admiral Gayle had joined the chorus too. “Damn it, Gabell. Report!”

  “I've made the shuttle.” Peter was aware how breathless he sounded. He doubted his fear had even allowed him to take a proper breath since Alphred had pushed him out the hatch.

  “You're onboard?” Minerva's voice came over the communicator.

  “Yes, I'm going forward now. I still have the crowbar, for what it's worth.” Peter gripped his makeshift weapon closely, wondering just how he should treat it. All the weapons training he'd had was for swords and spears. A crowbar seemed far more like an axe.

  Admiral Gayle’s gruff voice of experience came over the communicator again. “Well done. Proceed to the aft side of the shuttle. Your cohort commander eyeballed an opening there during your pass of the shuttle.”

  “Got it.” Peter began to walk. It was a slow process since he had to keep one foot always on the hull. “Is there a plan for if this goes wrong?”

  “The Unity is moving in on an intercept trajectory along with the shuttle Second Commander Tharsis is piloting. Together, we hope to force the shuttle away from Phobos.”

  A blockade. Peter wasn't sure just how well that would work. Still, considering it was only the ancillary plan, it wasn't something he had to worry about. After all, he reminded himself, if the others were forced to go with that option, it meant he was already dead.

  As he moved forward, various stats and stratagems were thrown at him from all com channels. Peter tried to listen, but his mind was stuck thinking about how long everything took to do in space.

  Nothing was ever quick. All he wanted was to reach that hatch and be back inside, surrounded by walls. Yet, he had to keep his slow trundling pace as he walked across the hull. It wasn't fair.

&
nbsp; “I'm at the breach now. Seems whoever took the shuttle was in a hurry, the hole is tiny.”

  “Can you get through it?” Alphred's voice came through.

  “I'm guessing so. Whoever's piloting this thing is wearing the same issue EVA suit as us. Hopefully I've not put on that much weight in the last few months.”

  “Please don't make jokes now.” Nisha's plea over the communicator came as a surprise to Peter. He didn't know what to make of it, and filed it away as something to find out about later.

  Bending over, Peter peered into the hole, looking for something to hold onto. Finding a broken pipe, to use as a lever, he pulled himself through the gap, keeping his boots mag-locks engaged the entire time. It was a tight fit and Peter found himself moving with greater speed.

  He felt the injury before he saw it. As he hauled his legs through the gap, some edge of metal must have snagged his suit. He could not see how bad the damage was, but he could feel a pain in his leg as the skin swelled against the hole he had created.

  “I've ruptured my suit!” Peter didn't mean to shout. He bit his lip as he finished pushing himself into the ship, his feet orienting him to the ceiling. He took a deep breath, purposefully ignoring his leg and the plumes of gas escaping from it.

  “How bad is it, do you have any tape?” It was Nisha again. Her voice was laced with concern and Peter remembered how she had been when her suit had torn in training. Experiencing it for himself, he could better understand her fear.

  “No...no tape...” He took another deep breath, looking around him for something he could use to plug the hole other than his own swollen flesh.

  “You're on cargo shuttle, just like the one we're on, Peter.” Alphred kept a much cooler tone, like this was all still a simulation exercise. “There should be some rope ties or other matter you can use to make a tourniquet.”

  “That won't last me long!”

  “Time is time.” Alphred's glib response helped settle Peter's mind. He looked about for anything resembling rope on the walls of the shuttle. There was nothing.

  “Gabell, this is Admiral Gayle. It is imperative you secure the shuttle. If your puncture was serious you'd already be dead. Proceed with the mission at hand.”

  Peter's brow was covered in sweat by now. He moved his hand on reflex to wipe it, forgetting about the perspex helmet in the way. He shook his head, trying to banish all the distractions and fears assailing him. He had a job to do, everything else, even his survival, was apparently of secondary importance.

  With nothing in his immediate sight that could help secure his suit puncture, Peter decided to obey the admiral's orders. Disengaging himself from the ceiling, he used his hands to push himself through the shuttle’s cargo hold, toward the cockpit. This shuttle had already been loaded with cargo, and there were plenty of crates to use for cover as he pushed forward.

  It was unnerving trying to sneak up on the pilot. The task was made more complex by the fact that Peter was robbed of all his senses except sight. Poking his head around a corner, he caught sight of the cockpit. It was empty. A chill fell over him. That wasn't right. There was no way the terrorist would have abandoned the craft and that led to only one possibility.

  As soon as Peter realized what was going on, it was too late. A figure moved out of the shadows in a blur, punching him in the face. The tough perspex of his helmet wasn't damaged by the blow, but Peter felt his equilibrium falter as he was thrown backward through the air.

  Gripping his crowbar in his right hand, Peter reengaged the maglocks on his boots. If he was going to fight, he preferred to do so from a defensive position. His foe, meanwhile, floated through the gap tangle of crates. Peter noticed straight away the menacing teeth of the saw. The man had kept the device tied to his belt by a cord and now took it in both hands. The diamond tipped teeth began to whir to life, becoming a blur of motion, now more eerie, because they emitted no sound at all. Peter was at a complete disadvantage and he knew it.

  Raising the crow bar, Peter prepared to attack, but was surprised when an unfamiliar voice came through on his communicator. “You forgot that these suits mics are interconnected. I've been listening to you and your commander for some time now. Neat trick getting here.”

  Peter didn't answer. Protocol had always dictated not to talk to terrorists, besides, he really didn't know what to say to the man staring him down with a saw blade.

  “Well, come on, show off your moves. Everyone has heard about the legendary skills humanity's first militarized space farers possess.”

  Once again Peter refused to answer. He wanted to lash out, take a chance with the crow bar. He couldn't even do that. His body refused to cooperate and all he could do was hold his ground.

  The man moved forward. He was frightening to look at with his face obscured behind his perspex mask. It was like looking at some human-machine, unfeeling and without remorse. The man took every opportunity to attack as Peter had missed his opportunity.

  Lashing out, the man used the saw like a club, swinging it in a wide horizontal arc. Peter didn't know if he had managed to dodge the blow or if his opponent had simply misjudged his swing. The whirring blade of the saw missed him completely, the near miss finally releasing his body's functions to him.

  Peter deactivated his suit’s locks and pushed off from the floor, hurtling backwards at speed. He could not see where he was going and smacked straight into a cargo crate.

  “Still finding your space legs? You're going to have trouble keeping your balance with that hole in your suit. I can patch that up for you if you drop the crowbar.”

  “Don't do it Peter. You can't negotiate with terrorists!” The call from Admiral Gayle reverberated in Peter's ears like the voice of some bossy conscience.

  “Okay, forget it. I know better than to pick a fight I can't win. I give.” As a show of his word, Peter let go of the crow bar, pushing it away so that he could not reach for it.

  A chorus of objections roared in his ear and he tried to ignore them.

  “Quite a lot of fuss. Seems you've annoyed quite a few people there.” The man came forward, the saw in his hands still engaged and rotating at a blistering speed. “You know I can't really let you live though, right? There aren’t enough resources in space to be spared on prisoners.”

  The man lifted the saw blade high to deliver an executioner’s blow. Exactly what Peter needed. With a scream of mixed fear and anger, Peter brought his leg up high, delivering a sweeping kick at the last possible moment. As his foot connected with the side of the saw, he reactivated his boots’ electromagnets. The burst of action took his foe by surprise, and the cumbersome weapon was wrenched from his hands.

  The magnets on Peter's boots continued to propel him toward the wall, the saw traveling with him. Already the machine was whirring down and Peter reached down to try and grab it for himself. He never got the chance.

  As his boots pulled him away, his enemy recovered and yanked on the cord that tied the saw to his belt. Peter's magnets were strong, but they weren't about to overcome the force of a powerful snag. He watched in despair as the saw arched back towards its owner. All he could do was follow it. A quick press on his gauntlets disengaged his magnets again and engaged his suit’s thrusters. He had no time to be subtle, and he just let the suit launch him forward like a torpedo, crashing into his opponent just before the man could get a hold on his weapon. The saw flew out of reach as the force of Peter's impact and his driving thrusters sent him and his foe careening into the hull.

  The room swam. Peter threw a punch at his foes helmet, striking him three times in quick succession. His enemy seemed to be winded after being thrown against the wall with such force. Peter's eyes looked desperately for the cord that held the to its owner’s suit. Grabbing for it, he gave it a sharp tug, hoping to wrest control of the weapon.

  The device flew towards him quickly, and Peter put out his hand to grab it. However, his foe was not done. The man reached out with his own hand both of them grabbing for the saw
at once. They wrestled with it, bodies spinning in circles as they tried to gain the upper hand. Peter could feel his enemy gaining control. He was stronger, older, more powerful. Even as they grappled for control, the man reactivated the blade.

  As they swirled through the air, Peter tried to think of anything that could help him. His strength was failing, and any second his foe would have bits of him strewn about the shuttle.

  A memory passed through Peter's mind. As he wrestled there in the shuttle, his mind cast itself back across the years to a similar scene. A young boy, face pressed close to an active belt sander, the whir of the machine intensifying as his cheek was pressed closer and closer. He didn't know if it was the fear, or the anger associated with that memory that gave him strength in that second. All at once, his muscles seemed to strengthen, a desperate might coming to his body. He screamed inside his helmet, a mad, long shout. He managed to retain his grip on the saw, legs now working to kick at his assailant, punishing him with wild blows to his torso. With each wild strike, he could feel the grip he fought against weakening. He continued to strike, his knee smacking over and over against the man until finally his hands let go of the weapon that would be his savior.