Jupiter's Halo: Unbroken

by A P Heath

  “We haven’t picked up any signs of life on the system sweep, but the lockdown protocols are in place so there may be interference. Running visual sweep to establish whereabouts and status of the assigned crew, but as of yet no sign of them living or deceased sir.”

  Lanad paused for a moment, then continued, “Sergeant Johs confirmed the secondary loading bay has been secured. Deneminjic is sweeping levels six through eight. I’ve tasked 2C1 to sweep levels ten through fourteen while we clear the fourth and third level, before heading for the bridge. The trans-terminal has been sealed, presumably as part of the lock down sequence, so I’ve sent 1C3 down to investigate and attempt to lift the lockdown. In the mean time we’ll be using the external link stair to access the upper levels…”

  His transmission was interrupted by another voice, this one coming through the bridge speakers with the unmistakable clarity of a fully internal comm link.

  “The trans-terminal is completely sealed Lord Admiral,” Captain Timonny repeated, “It can only be reset to full operation from the reserve substation. I am leading Second Company there now.”

  DeMarchek stifled a sigh.

  “Captain Timonny, I will remind you that Captain Lanad has operational control at this point. Your mission brief was not to re-establish the trans-terminal, but to sweep the lower levels and provide additional fire support for First Company if required. I believe Captain Lanad just stated he has sent 1C3 to the substation. Is there a specific reason you feel you should usurp that order?”

  Captain Timonny’s comm link was silent.

  The Admiral was about to repeat his question when he finally replied, “No Lord Admiral. I just thought it better if…”

  “You will follow the orders of your superior office on site Captain,” DeMarchek cut him off.

  “If Captain Lanad’s orders are to be countermanded it will be by me and me only. Is that clear?”

  He waited for Timonny’s response again.

  “Clear Lord Admiral.”

  When the operation was done he’d need to have a very pointed conversation the Captain of Second Company.

  Damn Timonny, the man is just the wrong combination of ambitious and self-important.

  It had been DeMarchek who’d chosen Timonny for promotion to Captain after the fiasco on AM-960. In truth he’d been under pressure from Central Command for Timonny to be promoted for some time.

  AM-960 had given him the opportunity to remove that pressure, but had left him dealing with the man on a much more regular basis than he would have liked.

  Earth may be gone, but they’d brought the class system with them to Luna, DeMarchek reflected. No matter how far humanity travels there will always be privileges for the privileged and those with connections will always hold an advantage over those without.

  Timonny was not without skill or the ability to command, but he was rash, impulsive, self-serving and dismissive of the men and women under his command.

  He would fit in well at Central Command, but even with his

  family ties the only route there was through the combat ranks.

  If this mission went well then maybe there’d be scope for Timonny to receive another promotion, one that took him to a comfy oversized office back on Luna and well out of the Lord Admiral’s responsibility.

  DeMarchek put that thought aside for the time being. Pleasant as it was to think that way, the mission was far from over and a quiet reception at their target meant either the station was devoid of life entirely, or whoever was on board was hiding their presence. Neither option boded well.

  “Maintain open comms and report any and all situational changes.” He ordered his captains.

  “Yes Lord Admiral.” Lanad responded.

  “Yes Lord Admiral, sir.” Timonny added.

  FIFTEEN

  Strands of Iasa’s hair caught around a loose rivet, pulling tight before tearing from her scalp. The pain was enough to jerk her into consciousness and she opened her eyes to see the dim lumen strip of the main corridor ceiling passing by directly above her.

  She was moving, being dragged by her feet as her head bumped over the uneven floor.

  The two men pulling her along were walking with their backs to her, both seeming to look straight ahead with a hand clasped around each of her ankles. Her eyes hurt, even in the low light of the station and her chest felt like it had been crushed. Her arms were stretched out behind her, limp and aching.

  Where had they come from?

  There had been no proximity warnings, no breach alarms, nothing to indicate the station had been boarded. If they’d come in through a hatch that was opened internally even that would have registered on the bridge and Hornwood would have notified her.

  Did he miss something?

  It was unlikely, she admitted to herself. Iasa had known Hornwood long enough to understand that if there had been something to see, he’d have seen it. She trusted him as she did every member of her unit.

  That could only mean someone already aboard the station not only allowed them to be boarded, but also took the effort to hide the fact. Someone already aboard the station who was not one of her unit left a very small pool of suspects. Finding out who had betrayed them was a secondary concern though.

  Right now Iasa had the more immediate problem that she was on her back, being dragged to an uncertain destination by unknown assailants and injured.

  From the pain in her chest and abdomen she guessed the injuries were severe. She’d taken two shots at close range, as far as she could tell, but the weapons that had delivered them were of an unfamiliar design.

  Iasa and her unit had the highest grade equipment; full lightweight body armour with concussion dampeners to reduce damage from projectiles, worn over a bodysuit woven with a metallic mesh designed to spread and dissipate the energy from inbound fire to allow them to continue moving without being staggered, if they were hit in combat.

  The weapons they carried were without physical triggers, each one aligned to its owner’s comm link so firing happened at the speed of thought without the millisecond delay inherent in the need to have the brain send a message to a finger.

  The ammunition they carried was adapted for combat situations aboard space borne crafts and stations. Every projectile for their sidearms, combat rifles, even the antipersonnel gattlers were designed from a smart composite that would cut through body armour, flesh and bone, but would disintegrate harmlessly if it came into contact with the metal of an outer hull.

  It gave them the advantage of firing without concern for breaching a hull and causing decompression, should they miss their chosen target. Iasa and the other members of her unit were not accustomed to missing a target when they fired, but there again they also weren’t in the habit of refusing anything that offered a tactical advantage in combat.

  When the doors to the trans-shaft had opened she’d only been carrying her sidearm. The pistol was holstered on her right hip and she’d drawn and fired on the five figures revealed before her without hesitation.

  Two had gone down to her first three shots; two centre mass and the third puncturing the right eye of her closest assailant. As he’d dropped she’d raised the barrel to send the next round over his falling head and into the throat of the man behind him.

  That left only two but they had been spaced unevenly across the interior of the terminal and the two remaining were both to her left. Nothing about them was familiar to her.

  They were unarmoured, dressed in dark loose fitting flight suits from foot to neck.

  Their faces were uncovered but for a pair of thin goggles that

  wrapped around their heads to cover their eyes in reflective glass.

  They were slower to react than she had been too, but as she swung her aim across the open space she could see their own weapons levelling against her. They were odd looking; short and bulky in design, with gaping muzzles.

  Iasa felt as if she were moving in slow motion. She let her left leg buckle to drop her body into a r
oll taking her past the open entrance and out of their field of fire. As her shoulder dropped she fired again, sending a short stream of projectiles into the close confines of the terminal.

  She knew she was off target, but having rounds ricocheting about them was enough to shake the concentration of the most stalwart opponent and give her enough time to remove herself from line of sight. At least, that was what experience and training told her. Neither man so much as flinched at the bullets bouncing past them and as she fell to her left both fired simultaneously.

  Iasa was caught in the chest and abdomen by punishing force that threw her across the corridor to crumple against the far wall. Her breath was gone, her body on fire and blood filled her mouth.

  Her vision began to blur and darken as the two remaining boarders stepped out of the trans-shaft toward her. Just before she blacked out Iasa had enough time to realise two significant things; first, there was no blood pooling below her body, their weapons had not punctured her bodysuit but had somehow delivered a hammer blow that felt like it had broken every one of her ribs and pulped the organs beneath.

  Second, the men still in the terminal, the men she’d put down with precise fire, those men were starting to get up again.

  Iasa had succumbed to the blackness pushing in on all sides.

  Now she was being dragged along that same corridor, her weapon gone, her shallow breaths filling her lungs with fire and her head pounding so hard she had to fight not to pass out again.

  She realised dully that they were taking her to the recreation suite on level four, almost back to where she’d been when

  Hornwood had first notified her that they might be expecting boarders.

  How did they get on board so quickly?

  She wondered to herself before a memory of the recent firefight replaced her question with a much more pressing one. How does someone take a bullet right through the eye and get back up?

  The men holding her ankles had not turned to look at her. They think I’m dead.

  The realisation chilled her, they were dragging what they thought was her lifeless body to dump or dispose of. If they threw her out of an airlock she knew she wouldn’t have the strength to fight them. But if they did that surely a notification would show up on the bridge to give away their presence. They’d managed to board the station undetected and the very fact they were moving what they thought was her body led her to reason they were still aiming to remain that way.

  Iasa’s head was muzzy, but the thought gave her some minor hope. All she had to do was play dead long enough for them to leave her somewhere. She didn’t know how serious her injuries were or what she would do once she was on her own, but that was a consideration for later. Right now she just had to make sure she didn’t give away the fact that there was still life in her broken body.

  Her comm link was off-line leaving nothing but empty silence in her head. The feeling was disconcerting; for so many years she’d always had the voices of others inside her head and now there was no one but herself. Iasa didn’t know why her comm was down, maybe the force of the weapon had damaged it or maybe the force of her impact against the corridor wall.

  They were turning, following the bend of the circular corridor and the change in direction made her head loll to the side. She tried not to fight it, letting her muscles go limp in case one of her captors were to look upon her and realise she was alive. The angle gave her a new perspective and Iasa saw another reason, a far more likely reason her comm link was no longer working.

  As she slid along the metal floor she could see, glistening

  wetly, a smeared red trail stretching back along the corridor.

  SIXTEEN

  Reginald Semeon ran his fingertips along her skin, keeping his touch light as he traced his way down her side and over the curve of her hip.

  He loved moments like this. She was asleep and he was sated. Now they lay together, naked in the semi-darkness, relaxed, warm and carefree.

  She was the only good thing on this cursed hulk of a station. He’d come to the God’s Belt with his wife when her appointment had been confirmed, thinking he would have the freedom to explore his own pursuits while she got on with the necessities of her vocation. He would explore the great station at the centre of the colonies and see all its peoples.

  He would sample the best of everything the Ministry could offer; food, wines, liquors and entertainment. Maybe he’d make a sojourn to Mars and visit the famous gardens of Hereidum, the vineyards on the slopes of the Charitum hills.

  The reality of his situation had proven not to be anywhere near as exciting however. He was practically a prisoner.

  His every movement about the station was tied to the diplomatic agenda of his wife. He was prohibited from venturing into the social quarters alone, lest he behave in a way that undermined her position.

  He was not even allowed to detach himself from her and leave the station. Only within the confines of the Ambassadors suite did he hold any freedom over his own actions.

  That realisation had not been a welcome one. Large and varied as the rooms that made up the suite were, they lacked almost everything he had wanted, had expected from his new life as husband to the Deorum’s foremost diplomat.

  They lacked diversion, distraction from his empty marriage and the lackluster life he’d somehow found himself living.

  For twenty months, nearly a full Martian year, he’d meandered his way through the tedium of his life as a political hanger-on.

  He drank through the balls and engagements he was forced to accompany his wife to, slept through the majority of the time

  they spent ‘in leisure’ together and entertained himself when she was otherwise engaged by bullying and tormenting her office and domestic staff.

  It was no life for a man of his breeding. He should be enjoying the best of every vice and pleasure the universe had to offer, meeting exotic new people and gifting them with his wit. He should have been something special, not just the man on the arm of the Ambassador. It was almost unbearable.

  Then she had appeared.

  He’d been brightening a particularly dull day by berating a member of the chef’s staff over the unsatisfactory quality of his midsday meal, when she walked right by him.

  Her hair was red, not the orangey red so common to the inhabitants of the Jovian system, but deep red like blood. Her skin was fair and although she was dressed modestly, Reginald could clearly see the curves of her hips and swell of her breasts beneath the soft material of her clothes.

  She was perfect. Her eyes were big and round, tinging every expression with an innocence that he had since learned was reflected in every aspect of her behaviour. All but her behaviour in the bedroom that was.

  The irises of those captivating eyes, he’d later seen, were mixed in colour; blue at the centre, fading to green streaked with flecks of brown and yellow at the outer edges.

  He could stare into those eyes every day and still find something new. She was young too. Not a child, but young enough to still have some endearing childish ways about her, whilst her body was that of a woman.

  He marvelled over her body again now. Even after all these months the sight of her still thrilled him like it had at first.

  More so, in fact. When first he looked upon her he could only imagine the delights she kept hidden beneath her modest, unflattering clothing. Now he knew and that knowledge made the act of looking at her all the more lovely.

  Upon that first sight of her he did not know her role within the Ambassadors staff. He didn’t even know for sure that she was part of the staff.

  She could have simply been a messenger or some other

  diplomat’s assistant. Reginald wasn’t sure he’d be able to cope with the disappointment of that. To see her in all her perfection and know she was out there, somewhere aboard this gargantuan station that he could not explore to find her, would have been too much.

  His fears had been unfounded though. She was a part of his wife’s staff, not on
ly that but a member of the comms team within her office.

  That meant she would spend her working days in the office. The very place his distant, uncaring wife spent by far the majority of her time on those occasions she spent any real time within the confines of the suite.

  He had hitherto spent as little time as possible there. She was prone to attempting to start conversations with him when he was close by. The woman had a thing about silences. Reginald liked a peaceful moment, but his lady wife seemed unable to settle without a steady swell of noise about her.

  He’d started off by finding excuses to spend time in and around the office. Just to watch her as she worked. She smiled only rarely, he saw, but when it happened his world lit up. He’d been watching her closely on one such occasion while his wife was deep in conversation with her simpering little toy, Dilempian.

  He didn’t think she even knew he was there, but without reason suddenly she turned her eyes on him. He was caught. He was staring directly at her and she must have known he had been for some time. He thought he should look away, but her eyes held him.

  Then she dropped her head, a redness forming on her high smooth cheeks. Reginald was bereft, utterly lost and ashamed at the thought of embarrassing her. Then she looked up again. She looked right at him.

  And smiled.

  Reginald had never seen anything so beautiful. He was captivated and baffled and had left the room with enough haste to make his wife look up from her own discussion.

  From there it had seemed to move in a whirlwind.

  They exchanged looks, shy smiles like children too

  embarrassed to speak to one another. He had told himself she was just being respectful. Just indulging him, humoring him because of his advanced station.

  A woman like her could have any man, he knew. There could be no way she would want a man such as him. He was surely of an age with her father’s father. But still the looks had continued.

  He’d long given up feigning a reason to be within the office during his days and his wife had never pressed him on his increased presence. Perhaps she thought he was doing it to support her in some way. No matter, when he was there it was only for her. His wife be as well not exist in this or any other universe.