Jupiter's Halo: Unbroken

by A P Heath

  “Captain Lanad is injured and has been evacuated with the remains of squads 1C1 and 1C2. Lieutenant Mentrim is KIA, Captain Timonny MIA, presumed dead.”

  DeMarchek’s disbelief rose as he listened to the casualty list being reeled off.

  “Lieutenant Bolthosian of Second Company and 2C1 have

  been reduced to zero percent combat effectiveness and Sergeant Johs is…” Cassini’s voice faltered for a moment. “Sergeant Johs and the entirety of 1C3 are considered KIA Lord Admiral.”

  Two captains, two lieutenants, four sergeants – all dead or injured and being evacuated. Such losses amongst the Deorum marines were unheard of.

  This was supposed to be a simple mission, DeMarchek thought. So many marines seemed like ridiculous overkill, but now…

  “Confirm your position and status Lieutenant.”

  “1CR one-hundred percent combat effective sir. We’re in the substation.”

  The words made DeMarchek raise his eyebrows.

  “Sergeant Johs appears to have encountered serious enemy resistance around the fusion core reactor and we are about to breach to eliminate the remaining threat.”

  “Negative Lieutenant!” DeMarchek realised he’d shouted the words into the now quiet background of the bridge. Captain Strarsaan raised her eyebrows questioningly, other bridge officers looking up at his outburst from their tasks. DeMarchek waved his hand dismissively at the ship’s captain and turned his back on her.

  “Lieutenant Cassini,” He sent, managing to keep his messages internal.

  “You will not, I repeat, will not enter the fusion core reactor. Do you understand?”

  Cassini’s reply came slowly, “Yes sir, but…”

  The Lord Admiral cut him off, “There is no ‘but’ Lieutenant. Neither you nor any of your marines are to enter the reactor core.”

  “Understood sir.” Lieutenant Cassini returned, bitterness seeping into his tone.

  “Return to the nearest evac point Lieutenant,” DeMarchek sent, “I need you to coordinate the retreat.”

  The use of that word pained him. He was unused to recalling forces while an enemy, any enemy still held their objective.

  “Ensure the injured are evac’d to the Pride and hold any remaining Peregrines at the combat perimeter.”

  If they were unable to return the station personnel or the substation section of GS-114 to Luna, DeMarchek had been given clear secondary objectives; the station was not to be left to fall into enemy hands.

  “Get our marines clear Lieutenant Cassini,” DeMarchek swallowed, knowing his report to Central Command would now be a grueling experience.

  “You’re orders are to destroy the station from space. Launch warheads, full spread. I want that station vaporized.”

  “Lord Admiral,” Cassini returned, “We have significant casualties to repatriate to the Pride, if we launch…”

  “I understand Lieutenant, but those are your orders.” DeMarchek knew what the lieutenant was asking; the Deorum marines always brought their fallen home. It was a promise they made to each other, a bargain for the sacrifice they were asked to make in service to their people.

  ‘If you fall on the field of battle, your name shall be remembered, your body shall be returned.’

  Destroying the station from space would break that promise to those whose bodies remained aboard. For DeMarchek it wasn’t a choice. They had to complete the mission in at least some small form and with the losses they’d endured, going back in to retrieve the dead would only lead to more lives lost.

  “Are you going to forsake this duty marine?” He asked through the comm link.

  Lieutenant Cassini responded without hesitation.

  “It will be done Lord Admiral.”

  DeMarchek cut the comms link and turned back to Captain Strarsaan.

  “The mission is in full retreat,” He saw her eyes widen at his words.

  “Lieutenant Cassini has combat command and I have tasked him with full destruction of the target. I expect completion momentarily and I want visual confirmation from our drones within the hour.”

  He was angry at himself, at his orders and his officers. He needed to soothe himself, but he knew he would not be afforded the time and space to do so properly for several hours. He could feel the poisons seeping into his system, spreading their toxins through him and draining his energy, his resolve.

  “Yes Lord Admiral,” Strarsaan replied, “And what of the returning marines?” She asked.

  She would know the casualties were high, that much was apparent from the muddled comm signals that had filled the bridge, but she couldn’t know the true and terrifying extent of their losses.

  “Have the infirmary prepared for influx.” DeMarchek watched her eyes as he delivered the news, wanting to see the mirror of his own shock on her features.

  “Tell them to expect casualties at sixty percent.”

  “Yes sir…” Strarsaan’s words faltered as the meaning of his settled into her mind.

  “Sixty percent sir?” She queried, incredulous.

  “Yes Captain Strarsaan,” DeMarchek replied, his eyes dark. “More than half the combat force will be returning wounded or deceased.”

  Luna watch over the ones we leave behind.

  THIRTY

  Cammie discarded the white jacket as she hurried through the maintenance corridor that led from the kitchens adjoining the Celebratory Hall and onto the main concourse of the Ministry quadrant.

  The brilliant white was specked with red dots, a spray that ran from her left arm across her chest to her right shoulder. She unbuttoned it as she ran, shrugged her shoulders from its stiff material and let it fall in her wake. She walked briskly. She would not run.

  Never run.

  Running attracted attention and Cammie needed to reach her quarters unmolested. Any delay would interrupt her carefully laid plans and make her next move more difficult.

  She was not pleased with her actions; the decision to remove the Ambassador did not faze her. People died every day on the God’s Belt, in fact they died every day everywhere. One more at her own hands was not a matter that weighed on her. It was the completion of that action which dissatisfied her.

  She had been ready, the execution of her task simple in its planning.

  Insinuating herself as a member of the Hall’s waiting staff had been easy enough. She’d entered the kitchens under the guise of delivering a message from the Ambassador; a change to her dietary requirements. Once inside she’d found a fitting substitute. The girl was young, similar in height and weight to Cammie, if somewhat lacking in the body shape she used so effectively.

  She had waited for the girl’s shift to finish and followed her discreetly to her home on the lower levels of the quadrant. The girl had turned out to live alone. That pleased Cammie. She only needed to borrow the face for a day and the likelihood of anyone stumbling upon what she left behind during that time, was much reduced.

  She had waited a while, allowed the girl to settle and confirmed no one was likely to interrupt, then requested entry to her quarters.

  She remembered the face; all innocent confusion at this stranger at her door and then shock and the brief questioning look in her eyes as Cammie slipped a needle blade into the artery in her neck.

  Ten hours later Cammie emerged from the same door, a new face replacing her features, her hips thinner, her chest flatter.

  She took the girls place in the serving queue and worked her way through the celebration while waiting for her moment.

  It had come together quickly. Another waiter, a young man who seemed to hold some attraction for the face she’d taken had stopped to whisper a word in her ear. Over his shoulder she could see her target talking in a small group of listening men. She measured the distance in strides, glanced the room to check on the angles of sight and slipped her hand under the waiters elbow. Her first foot was already moving as she lifted his arm, tipping the balance of his laden tray and hearing the clatter behind her as his load cr
ashed to the floor.

  One, two, three, four strides.

  She heard the shriek of a woman’s voice in protest, saw the eyes turning to take in the view and her target was beside her. The Ambassador was side on to Cammie. She expected the woman to follow the stares of the others, presenting her back to Cammie and allowing her blade to slip between her shoulders and puncture her lung. It would collapse, robbing the Ambassador of breath and leaving her to fall to the floor, her voice silenced, as Cammie moved on.

  Something caused the woman to turn on her instead.

  Maybe it was the movement of air her approach had caused, maybe just her presence so close. Whatever the cause, Arleese Semeon spun to face Cammie, a quizzical look in her eye.

  Cammie’s hand already held the blade, a thin shining sliver of metal that would pierce flesh and let blood flow.

  The Ambassador opened her mouth and Cammie was left with no other option.

  She slashed the knife across from right to left, feeling the blood spray her as she opened the torso in front of her from hip to shoulder.

  The knife was not meant for such a stroke. Its power lay in its

  point rather than its edge. The woman was old though. Her robustness damaged by the passing of years.

  Cammie estimated the wound would cause her to bleed at a rate that would become critical after sixty to ninety seconds. It was longer than she had intended. Too much margin for error, but she had been left without alternative.

  She was moving on as the Ambassador fell. Her steps had not faltered from the moment she’d unbalanced the waiter. From him to her target and on to the exit took less than fifteen seconds.

  Then she was gone from the Hall. Down a stairwell to the kitchens, through their steam filled bustle and into the maintenance tunnel that led away.

  By the time the body of Arleese Semeon had stopped breathing Cammie was already on the main concourse and heading for her quarters.

  Her face had changed again, back to the full lipped pout and dark eyes under flowing red hair. Under the white jacket of her disguise had been a clinging vest of deep blue, now filled with her grown bosom to lift its lowest edge from her waist, revealing a strip a her pale flat belly.

  She walked slower now, her familiar sway returning after a few steps. There was less need for haste now. A girl had killed the Deorum Ambassador.

  A girl with short blonde hair, dull grey eyes and a body barely distinguishable from that of an adolescent child.

  Cammie Li’An was not that girl.

  Her journey took her the full length of the concourse. Passing over the deep drop to this quadrant’s social quarter she breathed in the rich smells of its fooderies, listened to the sounds of its people as they frittered away their credits and time on meaningless pursuits.

  Cammie was glad she was above such things.

  At the end of the concourse she stepped onto the wide lift platform and waited for it to descend.

  Her thoughts on the Ambassador had been right. Reginald had told her as much. She’d sought him out the night after Arto

  Dilempian had left Jupiter’s Halo and teased the words from him once his passion was sated.

  He didn’t know much, clearly the Ambassador was wise enough not to confide entirely in her dishonest husband, but he knew enough to be useful.

  Arto Dilempian was bound for the Deorum mining station on Ceres. Reginald did not know the reason for this excursion, but Cammie was confident she did.

  She’d asked him about the Ambassador’s connections; her friends, confidantes, any one she may hold sway over. It was a delicate process and hampered by his alternating desires for more of her body and sleep, but finally she found the name she was searching for; Achiss Felosian, the Secretary of the Ministry.

  He was not the head of the Ministry, no such position existed, but he was highly influential. Just the right ear for the Ambassador to pour her pacifist words into.

  Cammie had known the danger of that. She could not allow Arleese to untangle the web she had woven about Jupiter’s Halo. Her course of action was clear.

  Cammie stepped off the platform as it reached her level and wove her way through the thin crowds. Her quarters were just outside the social district, small but acceptable for the period she had expected to stay on the God’s Belt. Now that time was being cut short, but she felt no regret at the prospect.

  She reached her door, entered the key sequence and stepped inside into darkness.

  The door slid down behind her, the lights of her rooms blinking into life as it closed.

  She had little time. Her exit strategies were many, but none took her where she needed to go on this day and she couldn’t risk waiting longer. She stepped into the bed area of her sparse quarters, leaning down to retrieve a small case that she slid from the under-bed storage. It was everything she needed.

  That only left one thing.

  Cammie slipped the thin cloth of her vest over her head. She dropped it onto the bed and slid the white waiter trousers over

  her hips and down her legs. Her flat shoes were kicked off, her

  underwear following the rest of her clothes to lay discarded.

  She stood naked, closed her eyes and concentrated.

  The door chimed.

  Cammie’s eyes snapped open. She should not have a caller. She had been careful to ensure few people knew where she would be at any given time and none of them should expect her here.

  She waited, wondering if the next sound would be a security override of the locks by the station security force.

  The chime sounded again. Cammie walked the few steps to the door, her bare feet making no noise as she placed them carefully on the cold floor.

  She reached the door, keyed the spy display and saw a face trying to hide its features in the shadow of her door.

  It was Reginald. Cammie didn’t waste time wondering how he had found her home. He was the Ambassador’s husband after all. No doubt the man had some connections of his own, or at least, enough wealth to bribe the information he needed from greedy hands.

  Cammie considered leaving him to stand there. He could not be sure she was within.

  “I saw you come home.” He was speaking to the monitor on his side of the door.

  “You didn’t come to the suite today and I was worried.” He carried on, his voice hushed, “Is everything alright my love?”

  Cammie knew he wouldn’t leave. He must have been waiting for her. Now he’d seen her enter she knew with certainty she would not be able to bypass him.

  She pressed her hand to the internal panel of the door, letting it open and seeing him standing there. His shoulders were hunched under a tall collared jacket.

  She wanted to laugh. He was trying not to be recognised. The thought that anyone in this cheap level would have a clue about his identity amused her greatly. If anything, his strange clothing and furtive movements were likely to draw attention to him. That could be a problem.

  Seeing her standing naked in the light of the open doorway had robbed him of his words. Cammie knew he would stand and stare if she didn’t act so she reached out to pull him inside.

  He stumbled through the door, “You weren’t, you’re not…” He tried, “Why are you naked?”

  He finally managed to prioritise the questions he wanted to ask and she was unsurprised by his choice.

  “Because I saw you waiting my love.” She purred, thinking quickly.

  “You-you did?” He stammered.

  “Why of course,” Cammie replied, taking his unresisting hand and leading him to the thin bed. She didn’t have time enough for this.

  “When you didn’t come into the office I was worried something had happened.” He said, his eyes wandering over her body, never reaching her face.

  “I was worried maybe you’d been forced to leave or an accident maybe…”

  “I’m fine my love,” She whispered, lifting his hands to her flesh and moving her own to take his grey hair between her fingers.

&nbs
p; I need to leave.

  His hands were cold from his wait outside her quarters. She could feel the bumps rising on her skin as they moved over her.

  “I simply wouldn’t have been able to bear it if something had happened to you” He said, bending his head to kiss her stomach, letting his hands rise to cup her breasts.

  His tone was almost whiny, like a needy child. She pitied him in that moment.

  Maybe this is a mercy.

  Cammie laced her fingers through his hair. It was thinning, sparse around the crown, but still enough to grip.

  His eyes wandered to the bed, he saw the case waiting there.

  “Are you going somewhere?” He muttered

  Cammie slid her right hand under his chin, bringing his head up to look into her eyes.

  “I’m sorry my love.” She whispered gently. His brows creased

  in his confusion.

  “Sorry for wh-?” Cammie gripped his hair with her left hand, his chin with the fingers of her right and twisted sharply.

  Reginald Semeon’s head jerked, his neck snapping loudly. His eyes glazed and she let his hair slip through her fingers as his limp body folded onto the floor.

  It was necessary.

  Cammie stood over him for a moment. Looking down on the man she had used so briefly. He would never take her to the Utopian Isle as he’d promised. There was no guilt, no remorse. One life, when weighed against the enormity of her task, would always be found wanting.

  She closed her eyes, lifting her head again and concentrated.

  Her skin began to move, changing from pale white flesh to a deep brown. Her chest flattened, her full breasts sprouting coarse dark hairs as they sank to her chest. Her stomach rippled with the muscles moving beneath, her thighs and calves thickened, a carpet of their own hair covering them. Her hips lost their curve, rising slightly as they thinned. Her red hair shortened, rewinding into her scalp, darkening to tiny black fuzz. Her chin broadened, her eyes moved, more hair formed around her face and the top of her head rose by half a metre.

  Within a minute Cammie Li’An was gone. The sultry young woman replaced by a toned man of middle age. He reached above the bed, drawing long clothes from a shelf there and dressed quickly.