Jupiter's Halo: Unbroken

by A P Heath

  “Lieutenant Bolthosian, take 2C1 into the substation to support Sergeant Johs.”

  Bolthosian nodded with a grunt.

  “I will stay here to coordinate our forces.”

  He finished, feeling the confidence in his decision grow as he spoke.

  It was the right thing to do. The Deorum couldn’t, shouldn’t risk losing an officer like him. That was why he had marines to command. Marines could be replaced, but a man like him left a harder hole to fill.

  “As you say sir,” Bolthosian growled, turning to the marines lining the stairs.

  “Marines!” He barked at them, “We’re heading to the substation; Sergeant Johs and 1C3 need support. Move out, two-on-two. Watch for targets!”

  The marines formed up in good order and filed down the stairs at speed. Bolthosian turned his eyes on Timonny.

  “You stay here and coordinate Captain.” He growled.

  Timonny nodded, “2C1 ETA to substation two minutes Captain.” He sent to Lanad, sinking to the stairs as Bolthosian and his marines disappeared around the turn in the link stair and out of sight.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Arto Dilempian waited quietly in the Ambassador’s private study. The room was small in comparison to the rest of the suite; its walls lined with book shelves on three sides, gave the room a close feel.

  The books weren’t all real, he knew. Most of the shelves simply held empty covers to give the effect the texts were held within.

  The Ambassador’s collection occupied the shelf directly behind her desk on the back wall. He guessed there were maybe forty physical books there; a grand enough collection for any connoisseur of the old printed page.

  The chair he sat in was high backed with thick cushioning, forcing his usual slumped posture into a straighter bearing.

  There was another similarly upholstered chair to his left and a small round table in between.

  Before leaving him to wait on Her Excellency, her aide had offered him his choice of beverage. Dilempian had declined, watching as the man returned briefly to place a delicate china-effect cup on the Ambassador’s desk.

  He knew what the contents would be; the perfumed tea she had shipped in especially from Luna. As the aide closed the door Dilempian could smell the aroma filling the room with its sweet fragrance.

  The Ambassador’s desk was pressed near to the back wall, her large leather effect-chair slotted neatly between desk and the books it backed onto. The Ambassador was not a large woman and Dilempian smiled at the thought of how small she would look in such a monstrously over-sized seat.

  That was not to say he wanted her to look foolish. He held Arleese Semeon in high regard. She was a driven and forceful woman; a strong blend of stubborn-headedness and empathy that gave her flexibility in her dealings with the Ministry and its myriad bureaucracy.

  Dilempian knew he would never be able to handle the complexities of solar politics with the finesse she brought to it.

  Being a trade envoy was a different matter entirely.

  It required a certain amount of pliability certainly, but what it really needed was the tenacity to get the results he was tasked with and the ability to hold ones nerve when negotiations reached a stalemate.

  He was proud of his achievements so far. He’d set terms with Mars for trade in minerals and metals; a difficult enough task when those smug aristocrats of the red planet were all but self-sufficient.

  He’d even managed to negotiate a trade pact with one of the pirate clans that sailed the void in their home ships.

  Admittedly the pirates’ side of the bargain mainly consisted of not attacking the freighters bringing them trade goods, but it was a deal no one believed he could strike.

  It had lasted for three Martian years before they raided a supply convoy bound for Deorum stations outside the asteroid belt and Central Command declared the pact void and the pirates enemies of Luna once again. The important thing was not that it finished, but that he had made it work in the first place.

  His greatest challenge had always been, would always be the Ministry. Every meeting was the same; they demanded more and offered nothing in return. Dilempian felt some satisfaction in the knowledge he had managed to hold them at bay for so long. Now though, now it felt different.

  The Ministry were applying pressure on all fronts, he knew. The Ambassador was being railroaded by her counter parts on the God’s belt at one time, then side lined and left on the outside of crucial talks at others. Dilempian knew he wouldn’t have the patience to keep going, were he in her place.

  He felt strangely pleased to be here now. He was sure the Ambassador would dismiss him from service; return him to Luna in disgrace.

  The prospect should terrify him, but he wasn’t afraid. The burden of his vocation was a heavy one, a weight that he had carried for so long.

  The idea that it might no longer be his to bear was a pleasing one. He would return to Luna, to his wife and their children.

  The travel demanded by his life’s work had kept him away

  from them too long. He missed their smiles, their laughter. Shona, his oldest, would be nearly nine by the time he returned. She was a woman already. His part in her upbringing had always been from a distance. There had been time at home of course, but never enough and always his work pulled him from his family, keeping him separate even when they shared the same rooms.

  It was not too late though. He had savings, credits put by for his retiring years. They could dip into those for a year or so. He could help Shona finish her studies, read to the twins, Miley and Jacob, tell them stories of his travels across the solar system. Hold his wife in his arms. He smiled at the thought.

  His reverie was interrupted as the door opened.

  Ambassador Arleese Semeon walked into the office, her face held in a warm smile at the sight of him.

  Dilempian rose from his seat and bowed as she entered. She waved a hand dismissively at him.

  “No need to stand on ceremony in here,” She said pleasantly.

  “It’s just the two of us you silly bugger.”

  Dilempian couldn’t help but smile. Arleese Semeon hailed from a wealthy family and had been schooled from an early age to rise to high office. Somewhere along the way she’d learned to talk like a common dock-hand though and the first time she’d cursed in his presence the language she used had left Dilempian speechless.

  “Sit down would you,” She continued as she embraced him in a brief hug.

  Dilempian let his hands press lightly against the back of her shoulders before removing them and retaking his seat.

  Friendly and relaxed she might be, but she was still the Deorum Ambassador to Jupiter’s Halo and so Dilempian would always afford her the respect such a position demanded.

  He watched as she shuffled her way around the desk to take her own seat.

  The narrow space between the packed shelves and the wide desk robbed the action of its dignity, but he knew her well enough to know the effect was exaggerated to put him at his

  ease. As she sat down her hand brushed the surface of the desk. It seemed an unconscious action, but after a moment Dilempian realised a gentle sound was suffusing the room. It was soft, almost too quiet to make out, but it ushered the silence that he’d sat in alone from the office.

  “So you’ve finally managed to see the Under-secretary, I understand.”

  Dilempian tried to keep the disdain he felt for Under-secretary Harten from showing on his face, but she could read him easily.

  “I take it the exchange was not all you hoped it would be.” She stated gently.

  “It was…not entirely productive.” He replied, choosing his words carefully.

  The Ambassador laughed loudly at that.

  “And you claim you’re no politician.” She said.

  “Tell me, what are your thoughts on the Under-secretary?” She let the smile fall from her lips and fixed him with a questioning stare. Dilempian tried to think of an appropriate way to convey his feelings.
<
br />   “He is a, an unusual man.” He said carefully.

  The Ambassador continued to stare.

  Dilempian felt the urge to elaborate, “He talked a lot about not very much.” He added.

  Ambassador Semeon raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ve had similar conversations with him myself.” She said. “Let’s not mince words though; he’s an oily little prick with a good talent for tying you in knots with all those words of his.” She looked him in the eye, “Isn’t he?”

  Dilempian couldn’t help but smile.

  “Yes Your Excellency, I would say that was a pretty good description.” The Ambassador returned his smile.

  “And I would surmise therefore that he demanded increased supply, but refused to amend the Accord to reflect our increased liabilities?” The questioning look again.

  Dilempian sighed; clearly she knew exactly how his appointment would play out before he’d even stepped a foot in

  the Under-secretary’s office.

  “Yes Your Excellency, that about covers it.”

  He felt dejected, his happiness from before curbed by the knowledge that he had disappointed a woman he respected and considered a friend.

  “Oh stop looking so bloody glum would you.” She said brusquely.

  “And there’s no need to give me those big surprised eyes of yours.” She added as his expression changed.

  “I knew what that slimy little bastard would throw at you and I knew you’d be in here afterwards looking sheepish and expecting a tongue lashing.”

  Dilempian wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Your Exce…” Ambassador Semeon cut him off.

  “And you can stop all this ‘Your Excellency’ rubbish.”

  She bobbed her head around as she parodied his use of her title. “It’s Arleese when we’re alone.”

  She shook her head.

  “Honestly, I’ve told you a dozen times. Do I have to repeat myself every time I see you?” Her tone was chiding, but he could see the smile in her eyes.

  What she said was true; every time they met in private he would start by addressing her with her full title and she would scold him for it.

  “Outside of this room I’ll be ‘Your Excellency’ every hour of the Martian day, but in here I’d like, just for once, to hear someone call me by my name.”

  To be asked as much by the Ambassador was an honour, he knew.

  It made Dilempian uncomfortable to speak so informally to his superior. He’d been raised on Luna’s dark side.

  From a poor family with little prospects he’d worked hard to rise through the ranks of the Deorum traders’ guild and the journey had bestowed in him a firm understanding of his place, as well as a healthy respect for the pain a man could suffer for speaking the wrong way to his betters.

  Near the top of that list of betters was the Ambassador, but he

  could hear the edge of pleading in her voice, so he gave in.

  “Thank you You-…Arleese.” He corrected himself.

  “That’s better, Arto,” She smiled, emphasising his own given name.

  “If I have to tell you again you’ll find yourself shipping ice from Ceres to the plague colonies on Callisto until your hair turns white and your teeth fall out.”

  She was still smiling, but he knew better than to treat the threat as entirely in jest.

  “Now that’s out of the way you can stop fidgeting like a nervous school boy waiting to be punished.”

  Dilempian had not realised his nervousness was so visible. He forced himself to be still as she continued, “Yes, I knew your appointment with the Under-secretary would be futile.” Arleese leaned on the desk, the height of it meaning her chin rested almost on top of her crossed hands.

  “There has been considerable pressure from the Ministry on our mining ventures for some time now. They wish to remove the Accord fully and replace Deorum facilities with their own.”

  She paused to take a sip of her tea.

  “Command has reported increased pirate activity around Ceres and the asteroid belt, although they suspect the Ministry’s hand in it.”

  She took another sip, savoring the sweet taste before continuing.

  “They believe, as do I, that the escalating risk in the area is a ploy to make our handover of mining operations seem less of a loss.”

  Dilempian was shocked.

  Political relations between the Ministry and the Deorum had always been strained, but to employ tactics like these was outrageous. After all, technically the Deorum were one of the colonies the Ministry governed.

  “It isn’t of course.” Arleese said dryly, shaking her head.

  “But then our friends in the Ministry have never been as clever as they like to think they are.”

  “But surely, they can’t just lie...” Dilempian started.

  “They can and I believe in fact, are lying. Constantly.” Arleese overrode him. “I have received petitions directly from the Ministry council to ‘help Command see sense’, in this matter, as well as…”

  She tapped at the display set into the top of her desk.

  “…reports from the station commander on Ceres’ Primary Station of suspicious equipment ‘malfunctions’.”

  Arleese raised her hands, flexing her fingers to show Dilempian the inverted commas she slotted around the word.

  “Your pointless tangle with the Under-secretary was just another move in their ridiculous game, I’m afraid. I only fear they don’t see just how dangerous their actions could be.”

  Dilempian tried to take it all in.

  If the Ministry were willing to go to these lengths, if they were willing to attack Deorum vessels under the guise of piracy and sabotage mining equipment. If they were willing to endanger or even take Deorum lives then Command would see only one route left to them.

  His eyes widened as the realisation blossomed in his mind. Arleese could see he’d reached his conclusion.

  “Yes,” She said gravely, “There are already voices in Command calling for the Accord to be broken and the supply to the Ministry cut off.”

  “But, if we stop the supply of ice…” Dilempian couldn’t finish the thought.

  Arleese nodded, “It could lead to war.”

  She let the words sink in. All out conflict was a threat that hung over the uneasy peace of the solar system, but one that was held at bay by the Accord and the mitigation of Mars.

  The Martian government, such as it was, wanted no part in the squabbles of the Deorum and the Ministry, but they did provide a neutral voice to bring reason when all others were too heated to see it on their own.

  Dilempian thought of his family on Luna. His children, Shona, Miley, Jacob; they would be conscripted if the Deorum went to war with the Ministry. The thought made his stomach twist.

  “We can’t allow it.” He said, his voice shaking slightly.

  “I’m glad you feel that way.” Arleese replied, “Because I have no intention of letting this charade continue any further.”

  She smiled thinly.

  “The Under-secretary may be happy to play silly buggers with you, but he is the under-secretary. I have been speaking rather plainly with the Secretary of the Ministry and I am confident we have an understanding.”

  Dilempian could only nod along. This was above his head and he knew it.

  “I need something from you though Arto.” She continued.

  “If there’s something I can do to help you, just say the word.”

  “I know you expected this to be our last meeting, but I have no plans to dismiss you from your service to the Deorum.”

  He knew he should be pleased at her words, but the image of his family rose in his mind.

  “I did think maybe you would return me to Luna.” He replied, tying to keep the longing from his voice.

  Arleese didn’t seem to notice.

  “I need you to head on Ceres,” She said. “I need eyes there I know I can trust.”

  The request surprised him. He had expected h
er to send him back to the Under-secretary, to tell him of her agreement with his own superiors or maybe to press him for information, hoping he would crack under pressure.

  Ceres was another matter altogether.

  “I…I’m not sure why..?” He managed, his mind reeling still from the import of their conversation.

  Arleese leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

  “Something more is happening on that rock and it’s crucial to preventing this war that I find out what it is. I need somebody on that rock I can trust to root out the truth.”

  “But, surely the station security would be better, or the Belters’ Guild even?” He was lost.

  “No, Belters won’t talk to the security and the Guild won’t talk to me. I need someone inconspicuous there. Someone wise enough to spot when things aren’t right, but smart enough not to draw attention to themselves. I need you.”

  Dilempian knew he couldn’t refuse. Arleese was phrasing it like a question, but when all was said and done she had the authority to order him there and in reality that’s exactly what she was doing.

  The picture of his family welcoming him home faded in his mind. It was replaced with the desolate, cold rock of Ceres. The bare metal and freezing corridors of its main mining station and the hard faces of the unfortunate few who tolled there for the good of the Deorum. He made one last try.

  “Would you permit me to visit my home first, Ceres is a dangerous enough place. If something happened and I hadn’t seen them…”

  “I’m afraid there’s no time.” She said, shaking her head.

  Dilempian could see the sincerity of the sympathy in her face, but knew she would not let it get in the way of something so important.

  “I have made arrangements for your journey,” She said, glancing at her desk display again.

  “You are booked for passage on the Miranda, she leaves at thirteen-hundred from the main freight bay in quadrant twelve.”

  Only two hours from now. He thought, And it’ll take most of that just to get there.

  The Ambassador clearly wasn’t keen for him to remain on the God’s Belt any longer than necessity demanded.

  Arleese placed her hands flat on the desk, fingers splayed.