Jupiter's Halo: Unbroken

by A P Heath

  They’d been up for promotion to Captain at the same time and Timonny knew Lanad had gotten the First Captaincy for his lapdog approach. He was the Lord Admiral’s favourite; his little pup. Now Timonny had to follow him into combat like another little pup and he despised himself for it, but not nearly as much as he despised Lanad.

  Thinking about the Captain of First Company made him angry. He swallowed it down, tasting the bile in his throat and addressed his marines.

  “Listen up and listen well!”

  His voice boomed throughout the briefing hall, reverberating back at him from the polished metal walls.

  “At oh-three-hundred, Martian-Standard, we received a distress call from supply station GS-114.66.1-Delta.”

  The designation would mean little to the men and women of Second Company. ‘Delta’ meant it was the fourth position in a chain of similar stations and the GS stood for geo-synchronous.

  That meant it was in orbit around a planet or moon, but the sequence of numbers stood for an outdated Deorum mapping reference that fell into disuse before most of the marines in his company had even been born.

  The lack of reaction was not lost on him, “For those of you who haven’t dedicated your rack time to studying up on pre Luna astral-mapping, that means we’re heading to Earth, people!” That got them stirring.

  No one went to Earth! It was a toxic planet abandoned by humans over two-hundred years ago, nearly four-hundred if you went by the old Earth calendar.

  In truth they weren’t going to the planet itself, but a supply station in orbit around it. There were mutters from the ranks of benches before him and he could see shock and surprise in the eyes of some of the marines closest to the front.

  “Quiet down.” He barked, “Our destination is the station itself, we’re not going down to the planet so you can all stop your crying.”

  Bloody frightened children, the lot of them!

  He didn’t even try to keep the disdain from showing on his face.

  “We’re going in as support for the First Company under Captain Lanad.” He gestured with his left hand and the wall behind him lit up with the schematic and drone pictures of GS-114.66.1-Delta.

  “GS-114.66.1-Delta is an old Deorum supply station, all but deserted as there’s no real need for fleet resupply so close to Luna. We’re going in as support for the First and our mission area is the lower levels around the tertiary loading bay.”

  The projected images behind him zoomed in to show section of the station he referred to.

  It was old in design; the main body split into two large cylinders, the first comprising the primary and secondary loading bays and the second, smaller one, the third.

  There was a central shaft joining the two sections and heading up through two large rings to the small circular bridge deck. The tertiary loading bay was a gaping black hole on the fourteenth level, just above the separated substation.

  “Given the age and lack of use of the station, it’s likely the distress signal is nothing more than a glitch in their comms array, but there have been no communications since so Command is sending us in to confirm the situation.”

  Front and centre of the hall sat Timonny’s lieutenants.

  Boltho ‘The Bear’ Bolthosian was wearing his usual scowling expression. Timonny had learned not to judge Bolthosian’s thoughts from his expression as it was almost permanently set in one of anger.

  The lieutenant’s face was mostly obscured by his large brown beard, partly the source of his nickname. The other part was his savage temper when provoked and his tendency to rise up and roar in anger, very much like the bears of Earth would have done.

  Next to him sat Lieutenant Andre Parsons. Timonny had little time for Parsons. He was a bookish man, in both appearance and manner. He was thin, too thin for a fighting man.

  There must be more to him Timonny supposed. After all, he had made it through the Academy where thousands of others had failed.

  Whatever mettle the man possessed Timonny was yet to see. He’d been with Second Company for a year now, lieutenant of the reserve squads and was yet to go on an active combat mission under Timonny’s command. That wasn’t about to change today either.

  “Squad disposition sir?” Bolthosian asked, his voice a low growl. Timonny answered to the room in general.

  “2C1 will be boarding the target with myself and Lieutenant

  Bolthosian. Squads 2C2 and 2C3 will form the on board reserve and will deploy into Peregrines on the embarkation deck.”

  He paused, glancing at Parsons to watch the man’s face as he delivered the news, “The reserve squads will not be required on this particular outing, so Lieutenant Parsons…”

  The disappointment on Parsons’ face was clear and Timonny relished it. It took a moment for the Lieutenant of the reserve squads to realise he had been addressed directly.

  “Yes sir?” He looked up at Timonny.

  “I expect your squads to run full spec combat drills while I’m off ship and I will require a report detailing any squad failings and punitive recommendations upon my return.”

  There was a groan from the back of the hall, where the reserve squads were seated. Timonny ignored it. He knew he could be seen as petty for such an order, but Parsons was yet to prove himself and until he did Timonny couldn’t risk the marines he commanded dropping their standards because he was too soft on them.

  Parsons nodded his acceptance of the order.

  “Yes Captain.”

  Timonny returned gaze to take in the Company as a whole, “We don’t know what to expect, but we’ll be going in with our eyes open. Irrespective of what Command thinks this might be, we’ll be approaching it as a combat mission. Consider the breach to be under fire conditions and the resistance to be hostile until we confirm otherwise.”

  Lieutenant Bolthosian was staring past Timonny to the projection of the stations schematic behind him.

  “And what of First Company sir?” He asked. The question didn’t please Timonny.

  There was little renown enough to be gained in a mission like this and even that would go to the glory boys and girls of First Company.

  “First Company will breach the primary and secondary loading bays, secure the main body of the station, the upper levels and the bridge, Lieutenant.” Timonny let a little venom seep into

  his voice, but if Bolthosian noticed he didn’t let it show.

  He’s bloody smirking behind that beard, the bastard.

  “When do we leave Captain?”

  “Dust off in thirty minutes Lieutenant. Have your marines prepped and ready on the embarkation deck in twenty.” Bolthosian simply nodded his assent.

  “You all have your orders,” Timonny spoke to the room at large, “Carry on.”

  The men and women of Second Company started to move from the metal benches they’d been seated on and the noise level in the room rose as conversations started. Timonny watched for a moment before turning on his heel and walking from the hall. He had his own preparations to make.

  FIVE

  The Marshall Governor’s annual Eights-Day ball was in full swing. The heads of every family of note from the Martian aristocracy were in attendance; each man dressed in ceremonial robes or military uniforms, every woman displaying finely tailored gowns hung with dozens of glittering jewels.

  The ladies of Martian society showed their wealth in the decorative, even gaudy nature of their attire. Simply enough, the more wealth they owned the more they displayed. At least until one reached the most powerful families. Confident that even the lowliest servant would know them on sight, the cream of Martian society had no need to flaunt their power.

  Lady Junt, Lady Simler, Lady Xhi, all dressed in a more simple and refined manner. Their gowns were woven of the finest silks, but discreet with it.

  Each one wore no more than three colours, carefully matched with just a few jewels in the forms of necklaces, bracelets and anklets strung about their persons.

  Above them all was the
Lady Earone. Descended from the first Governor Marshall of Mars her family had remained the most affluent and powerful force on the surface for over five-hundred years. She dressed for the ball in a simple single piece of deep blue that covered her from neck to ankle. The material held tight to her ageing but still slender figure with a plunging back that bared her to the waist.

  Her arms were bare from shoulder to elbow, where her pale blue, almost grey gloves reached down to her fingers. Around her neck she wore her only accessory. The Martian diamond; a flawless stone cut into a perfect circle, set in the wide platinum torc that signified her as the matriarch of her household.

  From across the wide expanse of the Marshall Governor’s Hall her eldest son watched her, as she in turn watched the dancers bounce and swirl around the centre of the floor in their many bright colours.

  Martius Julius Earone had been named for both the planet of his birth and his ancestor, who once held dominion over it.

  It was a great honour to receive either namesake, one that only the most influential of the great families could lay a claim to.

  As a scion of the very foremost among those families Martius had received the joint honour of both.

  It marked him bound for great things; a place in the Mars Senate, perhaps even Marshall Governor, but all Martius wanted to be bound for was the depths of space and the wonders he would find there.

  It was a big universe and Martius had dreamed of exploring its mysteries since he was old enough to grasp the concept of their existence.

  That was not deemed an acceptable aspiration for a son of the Earone family however. He was expected to follow in the footsteps of his father and his father before him. Lead the family, uphold their honour and most importantly of all, maintain their place as the first great family of Mars.

  Status was everything to them. The only important thing. More so than him or his sister certainly. Martius raised his glass to his lips only to find its contents already drained.

  Nothing remained but the dark red stains of the wine he’d been drinking glass after glass of for over an hour. It was an expensive and exclusive vintage from the vineyards on the slopes of the Hereidum Hills, praised for its unique nose and exquisite lingering aftertaste.

  A single glass would cost a worker from the factories of Sabaea-Henry more than a month’s credits. Martius had emptied two bottles.

  By now he doubted he could tell the difference between this wine and the cheapest, machine-churned filth they swilled in the tunnels beneath Olympus Mons. Still, he turned unsteadily to face the bar that was currently keeping him upright and waved his empty glass at the tender there.

  Martius was drunk. Too drunk he knew, but if his wits weren’t comprehensively dimmed he’d only upset one or more of the preening fools that surrounded him by pointing out the utter pointlessness of their existence.

  The tender was not moving towards him so he waved his empty glass at the man again, endeavouring to encapsulate the

  sheer urgency of his need for it to become full again in the speed of his gesticulation. The glass slipped from his clumsy fingers, arcing over the wide bar top and crashing into the shelves behind. Ornately decorated bottles of the most expensive liquors shattered with the impact, showering the lower shelves with their contents.

  The music filling the great hall stopped abruptly, the dancers ceased their graceful moves and stood in shocked silence. The tender was a statue, his eyes wide as he watched liquid worth more credits than he’d likely earn in a lifetime pool on the floor and drip into the drainage grate behind the bar.

  Martius was as motionless as the rest. His hand still raised, his mouth open in an ‘o’ of surprise. He blinked a few times then burst into a hooting, booming laugh that rang out across the hall. He laughed hard and loud, bending double, his hands slapping the bar top.

  “You are embarrassing yourself again.” Lady Earone had appeared at his side. She stood tall and imperious, her mouth a thin line, her tone conveying the deep disgust that filled her at the sight of her eldest son’s behaviour.

  “…credits going down the drain…” Martius spluttered through the laughter that still racked him.

  “Get it?” He gestured to where the wines and liquors mingled on the floor, “Because they cost so much and they’re actually going down a drain.” Tears rolled freely down both his cheeks.

  His mother remained still beside him.

  Across the hall muted conversations had started. Martius could feel the stares, hear the mutterings of the lesser families and all their fawning, scraping attendants.

  None of them were worth his time. None of their opinions mattered or were worth wasting a moment of effort worrying over, but he knew his mother would not share such a view.

  To her the only thing that mattered was their opinion.

  She needed to know every last one of them knew his and her place and no matter where it was, the important thing, the most crucial thing was that they knew it was below the Earone family.

  Were any of them to interpret this little display as a sign of

  weakness on her family’s part, well…

  “I don’t feel at all embarrassed mother,” He turned a toothy grin on her to drive home his words and stoke the fires burning behind her eyes.

  “As a matter of fact I’m having a simply marvelous time.” He changed his look to one of mock consternation.

  “I’m not embarrassing you, am I mother?”

  Martius managed to hold the look of worry on his features for just a moment before his smile broke through again. He waved his now empty hand at the tender, signaling for another drink.

  The man didn’t move, but instead looked directly at Lady Earone. She shook her head, the movement small and fast but the message was clear; No.

  “May I remind you that you are the eldest son of the most prominent family on Mars?”

  She delivered the question as a statement, leaning in close and lowering her voice so as not to be heard chastising her son by any other ears but his.

  “I expect you to comport yourself accordingly!”

  This again. Martius was sick of hearing it.

  You are an embarrassment. You should not do that, not want that, not act that way, not think that way. You should be like your father. That is what is expected of you.

  It went on and on. There were so many things Martius was supposedly prohibited from doing he was often surprised they let him leave his bed chamber of a morning.

  It often seemed to him that being the richest, the most powerful family should allow them to do whatever they liked, but somehow the exact opposite was the reality they faced.

  He felt her hand on his elbow, the grip tight as she tried to lead him away from the bar.

  He shook her off, his flailing arm nearly knocking her off balance and staggered away from the bar with uncertain strides. She followed close at his heels, still hounding him as the music started up again and the level of conversation rose.

  At least I’ve given the gossips something juicy to chow down on.

  “Your father will be disappointed to hear of this.” She spat the words.

  “My father barely knows who he is!”

  Martius spoke over his shoulder, his words slurred. “He barely knows who I am anymore, let alone cares what terribly disreputable things I get up to.”

  He knew that would hurt her. Lady Earone was desperate to keep her secret; that his father was a spent force. His mind was gone, the extension of his body’s life finally too much for it to withstand.

  The aristocracy of Mars knowing of his weakness was a more fearful prospect for his mother than the repercussions of all Martius’ drunken exploits combined.

  Ahead Martius could see the doors that would lead him from these stiff, forced and fake fools and into the cool night air. Attended by grooms of the Marshall Governor’s mansion dressed in their ceremonial red jackets and peaked black caps.

  There was one either side of the large double doors that led out into
the manicured grounds around the great hall. One was moving towards him, his hand outstretched to steady Martius’ meandering gait, the other had a hand on the tall brass handle of the nearest door, readying to drag it open at this drunken guests approach.

  The noises of the ball were fading as he made his way down the long, high ceilinged corridor, but the voice of his mother was still loud in his ear.

  “You be thankful your father’s wits are not what they used to be.” There was venom in her words, “The shame you bring upon his name would break his heart.”

  Martius rounded on her, throwing his arms wide.

  “What do you want from me?” He shouted into her face.

  Lady Earone leaned back, shocked by his anger and startled by the flecks of spittle that sprayed from his mouth.

  “You want a perfect little clockwork soldier! Isn’t that right mother?”

  Martius stepped towards her, forcing her to back away from him further, “You want me to fall in line like a good little boy

  and never step a foot out of place!” She took another step back, away from his sudden, unexpected rage.

  Martius’ mind was on fire. The anger that bubbled up inside him fueled by the alcohol in his system.

  He wanted to reach out and grab her. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders and scream into her old, hostile face. He wanted to tell her that he had done his best; that he had wanted to be the son they dreamed of. He wanted her to know that they had beaten that desire from him.

  All their disappointment, all their cutting words, their degrading looks and impossible, unreachable standards. He wanted her to know that everything he was, they had made him.

  She wouldn’t understand. She could never understand.

  He knew it was fruitless, but the anger was boiling within him, demanding he take action, any action to release it upon this object of his fury. He stepped close to her, his face and hers a fingers width apart.

  “I’m so sorry to tell you that just isn’t the little boy you raised, mother.”