Jupiter's Halo: Unbroken

by A P Heath

  If you were taken by The Fatherhood there was no hope. No one would find you, no one could save you. If you were taken by The Fatherhood there would be no mercy, only pain. Pain and prayer to whatever gods you held dear that not all the whispers were true.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Hornwood could see the lights of the lower level reflecting through the broken doors of the trans-shaft. His descent so far had been difficult, but free of any further conflict with the station boarders.

  Officer Green was unconscious still, lying limply over his shoulder. When he picked her up on the bridge level she seemed to weigh almost nothing, her body even thinner beneath her fatigues than he’d originally thought.

  Now he’d carried her down the first level of the trans-shaft she seemed to be gaining weight by the moment. The distance between the bridge level and the first upper ring of the station would pass in seconds in the trans-terminal, but travelling it by access ladder with an unconscious comms officer on his back had made it considerably longer.

  The entrance to the shaft on level two was directly below him now. The doors had been folded in on themselves similar to the bridge, but there was no sign of any movement. He hung from the rungs of the ladder, his arms and hands aching from the slow climb down, waiting and listening for any noise, any movement. Nothing.

  There had been nothing for the last minute.

  Now or never I guess.

  Hornwood eased his hands onto the lower rungs, replacing his feet at the same time. He descended the last two metres in silence, controlling his laboured breathing as best he could. Blist had reported no movement on the fourth level and Cross had confirmed he and others were out of the lower link stair and heading up to the primary loading bay.

  The bay held their Peregrine, its engines silent since their first boarding of the station several months previously. Each of them had the training to fly it, but Diagno was the most experienced, coming to the ISS from a fleet pilot role as he had.

  Hornwood tried to push aside thoughts of the relief he would feel collapsing into one of its personnel couches.

  The primary landing bay was on level five and it had taken him

  almost twenty minutes just to reach the second level. There was a long way to go and he had no idea what sort of further resistance he might face on the way. A grim smile crossed his face at the prospect of watching the station detonate from space.

  With Green unconscious he had been unable to complete the sequence to detach the substation, but he could still launch a salvo of warheads at it from the cockpit of the dropship.

  The substation contained the station’s fusion core reactor. It was essentially a tiny version of the sun. Hydrogen compressed and fused to release energy that the station’s systems would run on. It powered everything from the lights to life support and even gave the station its own limited gravity field.

  It was a standard fusion core, the same type that powered every ship in the Deorum fleet and every major station in the system, albeit a scaled down version. Hornwood had not seen it with his own eyes, the core section of the station was shielded for radiation and only entered in the event of malfunction. Such cases were rare, although not unheard of, but nothing of the like had happened during his time aboard the station.

  Shielded and armoured as the section that contained the core was, Hornwood knew it wouldn’t hold up under serious fire. The resulting explosion from a core destabilization would vaporize the station and anyone unlucky enough to be aboard at the time.

  He dropped the last few rungs and fell to a crouch in the doorway of the trans-shaft.

  Above he could see the rent in the blast doors where his attackers had broken through. He’d watched Green enter the sequence that closed those huge doors and felt confident at the time that their metre thick alloy would prevent any intrusion. How he had been wrong.

  He had examined the weapons the dead had dropped on the bridge.

  They were square, bulky things with a gaping wide barrel. They had been heavy too and Hornwood had wondered at the

  sense of arming soldiers with such a cumbersome and unwieldly firearm.

  He’d shouldered one, sighted the bodies on the floor and depressed the trigger. Nothing had happened. There was no safety switch or even any further adornment to give him a clue as to why it wouldn’t fire. He reasoned it was imprinted to the bearer to prevent it being turned on its owner to ill effect. It was a smart enough strategy, but it hadn’t helped them.

  Hornwood could see into the corridor now. It was empty and silent. From the entrance to the trans-shaft the link stair that would take him further down was two-hundred metres down the curved corridor.

  Without the burden of Officer Green he would usually allow just thirty seconds to cover such a distance, but her weight and the climb had taken its toll. He knew he’d be jogging at best. That made it around one minute, maybe a little over. It was a risk, but not so much as sitting penned in to the open trans-shaft. He shuffled to the doorway and leaned carefully out to survey the rest of the corridor.

  Nothing.

  He took a breath, pushed himself to his feet and shifted Green’s weight to a more balanced position. Ducking out of the broken doors he glanced both ways before breaking into a brisk jog along the curve of the corridor. Each step he fought not to sprint.

  Running himself out of breath would leave him even more vulnerable if more of his attackers showed up. The curving walls eclipsed the view ahead, letting him see only ten metres into the distance. His muscles were tense, ready to fling Green from his shoulder and dive into combat.

  The floor and walls were bare, but for the illuminating strips set into them. There would be no cover, in a fight he’d have to rely on speed of movement and though he hated the thought, more than a little luck.

  The metres passed under his feet.

  His breath was growing ragged and with each bouncing step he could feel Green slipping from his shoulder. He shifted her weight again, the movement unbalancing his legs and forcing

  him to step out of rhythm.

  He slowed, regained his balance and increased his speed to a swift jog again. The plates of the metal floor passed under him and still there was no one. No techs, no LSS, no boarders.

  The bland corridor wall broke its monotony at the apex of the bend.

  The link stair.

  He was ten metres away. Something was in the doorway though. Something that shouldn’t be.

  Hornwood slowed to a halt and bent to gently lower Officer Green to the floor. He laid her down, taking care to lower her head gently onto the cold floor. She didn’t stir or wake.

  He glanced back along the corridor, then drew his pistol and sword and crept quietly along the wall to the link stair door. As he neared he could see what was blocking the automatic door from closing. It hissed down, stopped just above the floor and then hissed back up to disappear into the ceiling.

  The blockage was a foot.

  Hornwood crept closer still until he was braced against the open door. It hissed down, stopped, slid back up. Hornwood counted the seconds until it came down again. He couldn’t risk sighting a target around the door and losing any element of surprise he might have by firing just as the thing came down again.

  Down. Stop. Up.

  Hornwood spun his shoulder to let his head slip briefly around the doorway. The foot was still attached to the rest of the body.

  Dressed in the same fatigues as Officer Green, the man lay face down on the floor at the top of the turn in the stairs. He was dead, that was clear.

  Hornwood could see the curve in his torso where something powerful had flattened his body. He thought back to the force that had blown in the bridge doors.

  There was no one else in sight. It looked from the way he had fallen as if the man had been hit while running to or possibly through the door. Whatever force had hit him had crushed his chest completely and buckled his right arm.

  Hornwood guessed the impact had served to spin him round so he
hit the floor face down.

  He looked up and down the empty corridor. Whoever had caused this man’s end was no longer in the immediate vicinity, but had they gone back along the corridor or ventured further down the stairs?

  A movement caught his eye. It was subtle, just a flash of colour in the corner of his eye, but it was enough. Someone was watching him.

  Hornwood stood slowly and edged his way up the corridor. He was careful not to look at the doorway where he’d seen it. This level held some lab type rooms. Hornwood had no idea what a supply station needed with such equipment, but it seemed to keep the science staff busy enough.

  As with Green’s strange data transmissions, it was not Hornwood’s job to know what the people aboard this station were doing, so he hadn’t asked.

  Someone was in the room it led to, hiding just inside the door and waiting for him to drop his guard. He walked along the other side, shoulder pressed against the wall. The room beyond the doorway was brightly lit, but looked empty.

  Whoever was within was waiting until he was right out in front before they made their move. Hornwood was not going to let that happen. As he drew level with the nearest side of the door he leaped across the corridor and rounded the opening with his pistol up.

  Four terrified eyes faced him. Hornwood managed to stop himself from firing. Two frightened faces stared at him from inside the lab.

  They were part of the science staff, he could see. He stepped further into the room, glancing around to ensure himself they were the only occupants.

  “Please don’t kill us!” The nearest said in a rushed whisper.

  He was tall, shorter than Hornwood but not by much. His thin frame was draped in oversized fatigues and his left eye was magnified by a large lens that seemed to be grafted onto his face. His hair was grey, the skin of his face wrinkled and

  sagging around his cheeks and chin.

  “I’m not going to kill you sir,” Hornwood replied, still looking back and forth between the room and the corridor outside.

  The man looked wide-eyed at Hornwood’s upraised pistol, the open barrel level with his nose. Hornwood lowered it, but kept his body tensed, ready to fire if need be.

  “Sorry,” He said, “Who are you?”

  The man and woman stood stock still at his question, neither speaking. Hornwood sighed.

  “Lieutenant Jav Hornwood, Luna Special Service. Assigned to protection duties on Deorum Supply station GS-114.66.1-Delta” He said.

  “That means I’m here to help you. Now tell me who you are.”

  The woman stepped forward, shouldering past the terrified man in front of her. She was smaller than him, but wider in girth.

  Her fatigues strained to cover her where his were loose and her face was round and full where his was gaunt and thin.

  “I’m Doctor Samantha Gibbs and this,” she indicated the man who was now stepping back against the wall behind her, “is Doctor Baylie Runder. We’re physicists of the Deorum First Technica and we need to get off this station.”

  She raised her eyebrows questioningly, “Can you help us do that Lieutenant?”

  “Just call me Hornwood ma’am.” He replied.

  “That’s what I’m here for yes. We need to get you all down to the primary loading bay.”

  Doctor Runder stepped forward again.

  “The primary loading bay?” He said at the same time Doctor Gibbs said “All?”

  Hornwood had turned away to scan the corridor again. It was still empty, but how long it would stay that way he didn’t know.

  “Yes, all,” he replied.

  “And yes, the primary loading bay. Our Peregrine is being readied for launch there by other members of my unit. The rest of the science staff, med-techs and comms officers are

  there already.”

  He gestured back down the corridor to the foot that still blocked the entrance to the link stair.

  “Except for us, your colleague down there and Comms Officer Green.”

  “That’s Axton, well I should say it was Axton. He was a researcher.” Doctor Gibbs scrunched up her face, “I can’t recall his first name.”

  “It was Hawley,” Doctor Runder added, “He was a very diligent and pleasant young man.”

  He looked upset, Hornwood was unsurprised.

  Watching someone you knew meeting their end like that was doubtless unsettling for someone who wasn’t used to violence.

  “Of course he was.” Gibbs muttered with a slight sneer.

  “And where is this comms officer you mentioned?” She asked of Hornwood.

  “Just outside the entrance to the link stair,” He replied.

  “She’s injured so you’ll have to carry her the rest of the way.” Gibbs’ eyes narrowed, Runder’s widened.

  “We can’t go for the link stair.” He stuttered, fear evident in his tone.

  “Axton was running for it when they shot him and he…he…” His voice trailed into silence and he hung his head.

  Gibbs seemed less concerned about their route and more interested in Officer Green.

  “I have two questions Lieutenant,” She said levelly. “Firstly, why should we risk ourselves to drag along this comms officer of yours to safety; and secondly, what do you intend to be doing while we’re carrying her dead weight down all those steep little stairs?”

  Her tone was condescending and self-important. She’d even taken a breath and drawn back her shoulders. Hornwood was unimpressed.

  He turned to face her fully and raised his pistol alongside his head, the muzzle pointing towards the ceiling.

  “I’ll be covering you with this,” He flicked out the nano-filament sword, its blade glittering in the bright lights of the

  lab, “And using this to behead anyone stupid enough to come close. As for why you’re going to risk yourselves for Officer Green, well, I’m not going without her and I really doubt you’ll make it without me so,” He looked around the lab and back to her face, “It doesn’t look like you’ve got a lot of choice. Does it?”

  Gibbs held her ground, but he could see in her eyes that the argument was done.

  “Now, follow me and stay close. If I raise my hand like this,” He lifted his left hand in a fist, “you drop to the ground and stay there until I say otherwise.”

  He gave the corridor one last sweep.

  “Now come on.”

  As he stepped out of the doorway and began to head for the link stair he heard Gibbs’ voice.

  “And what do we do if you’re killed Lieutenant?”

  Hornwood stopped but didn’t turn to face her.

  “Run like hell and hope you’re not next.”

  He started walking again, confident they would be too scared not to follow. As he neared the entrance to the link stair and the still prone body of Officer Green his comm link sounded inside his skull.

  “Hornwood, there’s a problem in the loading bay.”

  It was Diagno.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the Peregrine, someone’s been inside and shorted out the engine firing sequence. I can fix it, but it’ll take at least two hours and I’m not even sure we’ve got the parts on hand.”

  Hornwood closed his eyes in frustration. Without the drop ship to evacuate the science staff and techs they were only left with two options and neither of them appealed.

  He very much doubted they could hold out in the loading bay for two hours.

  “Stay on station, do what you can and have the rest of the unit guard the bay entrances. No one gets in understood?”

  He paused while Gibbs and Runder clumsily lifted Green between them; one holding her under the arms, the other

  behind the knees so she lay sagging across the space between them. Gibbs looked up and nodded their readiness to get moving.

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The corridors of the station echoed with the sounds of gunfire.

  Aitkin thought he could hear shouting voices as well, but tha
t could just have been the comms sounding in his head.

  The attacks on the station by the Peregrines had been effective, allowing the pinned Deorum forces to regroup and head for their extraction, but it hadn’t wiped out the enemy threat completely.

  His comms rang with reports from Sergeant Mathers, trying to rally his remaining marines around the injured Captain Lanad.

  From Deneminjic, himself badly wounded, calling for the circling Peregrines to evacuate what was left of his squad from the still disputed primary loading bay.

  Augustine Johs had gone quiet and Lieutenant Bolthosian had not joined the communications since his drop ship had left the tatters of the tertiary loading bay.

  Aitkin had found the bear-like lieutenant in the corridor of the fourteenth level, his squad decimated by enemy fire, trying to break through the shutters where the trans-shaft led into the substation.

  The gruff sergeant had taken a crippling leg wound; his left foot and most of his calf crushed by the terrible force of their enemies strange weapons. He was still fighting.

  When Aitkin approached Bolthosian was leaning into the wide rent in the shutters protective layer, firing rounds and curses in equal measure toward an unseen enemy.

  “Lieutenant Bolthosian,” Aitkin spoke in a hushed whisper.

  Bolthosian didn’t turn. He gave no impression he’d heard the words at all.

  “Lieutenant!” Aitkin tried louder, before switching to his comm link.

  “Lieutenant Bolthosian, we are here.”

  At that Bolthosian ceased his fire and pulled himself back from the open trans-shaft.

  “It’s about time.” He growled, but Aitkin could see the relief in his eyes.

  “These bastards have just about done for me and mine.” He gestured with a shake of his head to the marines lining the corridor.

  From the look of it not a single member of his squad was combat able.

  “What the hell happened?” Aitkin asked, shocked by the devastation of such a fighting force.