Jupiter's Halo: Unbroken

by A P Heath

  He had returned to Maritha three times since.

  Each time he told himself it would be his last.

  Each time he told himself his hard-creds were needed for his journey. Each time he told himself he would not give in to the sickness that consumed him in her presence.

  Today he told himself he would not go again. Today he would find transport to Sabaea-Henry and plan his entrance to the tunnels. Today he would not give in.

  He glanced around the mess of his temporary home for the clothes he had discarded the previous night. His overalls were a stained, crumped heap near the door.

  His jacket lay at the foot of his bed. He realised he was still wearing his undershirt and the long socks that he’d purchased in the market to keep the chill from his feet at night. He realised he must look a sorry state.

  He could smell his own odour; a mix of sweat, dirt and alcohol. He had not been able to clean his clothes in the days he’d spent in Sabaea. He had felt the grime would lend itself to his overall look, but as the days passed he realised even the poorest of the local citizens gave him a wide birth as he walked their streets.

  He would find a place to clean himself, to take the edge off at least, before he searched out the way into the tunnels.

  The thought that Lady Maritha might be inclined to help him surfaced in his mind.

  It couldn’t hurt to ask and just because he was there didn’t necessarily mean he would do anything more than clean himself and his clothes. He could see her and not engage in anything more than conversation. He knew he could. Definitely.

  Martius stretched to reach for his overalls, scrabbling at them with his fingertips before gaining enough purchase to pull them across the floor.

  He was struggling to straighten them when he heard the

  muffled voices in the corridor outside. They sounded angry.

  Martius waited, still and silent.

  After a moment the voices ceased. He breathed out and

  pushed his feet into the overalls, pulling them up to his waist.

  A heavy thump shook the door to his room, then another. Martius jumped in fright as the door burst inwards.

  FORTY-THREE

  The Marshall Governor’s Eights-Day ball had been a disaster. Martius had made such a scene it was all the rest of the party goers could talk about once he’d left.

  She been forced to stay, to stand and smile in dull conversation, while she heard the whispers behind her back. They were cowards all. Not one among them would dare speak like that to her face, but they were all more than eager to do it where they thought she couldn’t see or hear.

  They were fools too.

  To think she couldn’t reach them, to think they were safe from her displeasure behind their gates and in their little towers.

  She was Lady Assenica Earone. Nothing on Mars was beyond her power.

  The Marshall Governor had tried to engage her in sympathetic conversation not long after she’d returned to the ball room. He was blathering at her about the difficulties with his own children’s obedience. She had to force herself not to slap the simpering fool and scream in his face. He was soft. Too soft to be the Marshall Governor and the ungracious whelps he proudly displayed as his progeny should be example enough of his lack of fitness to hold the post.

  Mars needed someone strong.

  It should have been Marius.

  The thought was one she had often. Her husband was a strong man. The strongest she’d ever known.

  His lineage went back thirteen generations, directly to the first Colonist Marshall Governor of Mars, Julius Earone.

  He would have been the leader we need. The man to bring Mars the independence it craved.

  It should have been Marius.

  Lady Earone looked up as she heard the footsteps approaching.

  Harper, the head of her house staff was approaching through the rows of green topped benches that surrounded her.

  She often came to the greenhouse for peace when her son’s

  actions perturbed her. The air was always humid, the space always quiet, but filled with life. She liked to think of the plants as a metaphor for her own life.

  They were background, little looked upon as they drew in moisture and nutrients. They would grow in busy silence, never attracting attention until they were ready, until they were strong. Then they would bloom, releasing their flowers and fragrance to attract those they would need to grow further.

  She often reflected on her own blooming. On how Marius had been drawn to her and she to him.

  Harper let out a discreet cough. He had stopped a short distance away, knowing not to invade her personal space without her explicit consent.

  “Yes, Harper?” She didn’t turn to look at him, but kept her gaze on the bright flowers.

  “Apologies for disturbing you my Lady,” He said in his usual professional tone.

  “But Gandrid has detained a member of the house staff for stealing.”

  She still didn’t take her eyes from the blooms.

  “And why do you feel it necessary to tell me this? Surely Gandrid can take care of the matter.” She could hear his feet shifting uncomfortably.

  “Of course my Lady, however, the man in question has said he did not steal the credits, but that he was paid them.”

  Something in his tone made her look at him. His body language told her everything she needed. There was only one person who could make her angry enough to leave Harper cautious in mentioning them.

  “By my son I take it.” It was a statement. Harper didn’t look any less nervous.

  “Yes my Lady, by Martius, but…”

  “But what Harper?”

  “Well, my Lady, he’s saying some pretty strange things about the young lord.” Harper rubbed his hands together.

  “He’s saying Martius forced him to take the credits in return for his clothes.” That piqued her interest slightly.

  What on Mars is he up to this time?

  “His clothes you say?” Harper nodded, “And why on Mars would Martius want the clothes of a servant?” Her tone was imperious as always.

  She had learned to speak in a certain manner over the years. It helped remind her audience that she was superior. She considered herself always to be superior, irrespective of who that audience was.

  “Apparently he wanted to travel unnoticed my Lady,” Harper replied, “I thought it might be best if you heard what he has to say for yourself.”

  Lady Earone sighed dramatically.

  “Very well, I shall see him.”

  She started to walk from the greenhouse, Harper turning on his heel to follow as she swept past him.

  “Next time you decide what is best on my behalf though Harper,” She spoke over her shoulder as they walked.

  “I will have you lashed to the hull of a pleasure boat and driven the width of the Hellas Sea.”

  “Yes my Lady,” Harper said levelly.

  She knew he knew better than to argue his good intentions.

  “I will be sure only to ask and not to assume in future.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, Lady Earone leading with Harper following at a respectful distance.

  The greenhouse was quickly behind them.

  Outside the day was bright, the sun magnified by the great Prometheus dome making the air warm. Clouds were forming to the west, over the Hellas Sea. She suspected they would be pushed overland by nightfall to spread their rain on the dry ground.

  They walked the main path through the manicured gardens that ran the length of the Earone estate. Servants and gardeners bowed their heads to Lady Earone as they passed by. She failed to acknowledge a single one.

  As they reached the edge of the gardens the path split into narrower avenues that ran south and east along the inside of the curtain wall.

  They took the path south, heading towards the main estate entranceway and the security building beside the inner gate. The estate covered five square kilometres.

  It was almo
st a township in itself, with housing for the multitude of servants that attended the Earone family’s every need and whim, held separate from the main house and its own gardens. As they passed the inner edge of the servants’ quarter Lady Earone was reminded of how fond her husband had been of the indentured young ladies who dwelled within the single storey buildings.

  Most of the quarter was shielded from the view of the main house by a line of thick firs, but up close they were easy to see between. Martius had never seemed to share his father’s fondness for those sorts of dalliances. She wondered if maybe they should have found some indentured boys to keep him better occupied.

  The path wound on towards the inner gate and soon enough the squat grey shape of the estate security block was ahead of them.

  Lady Earone had not needed to ask the whereabouts of Gandrid and this thieving member of her staff. She knew well enough they would be inside.

  As she approached she heard Harper speaking quietly behind her. The door directly ahead of her opened before she reached it. Harper had informed the office they were without she knew, but still the effect of the door opening a moment before she had to ask for it to be done was mildly impressive.

  It was the kind of detail she insisted upon from every member of her house staff; to know her needs without needing to be told, but never overstepping their boundaries. She could understand why some might feel it was a lot to demand, but she was Lady Earone. She would have what she wanted.

  She stepped into the security office where a uniformed member of the house guards directed her to a rear room with an outstretched arm.

  She moved past him, not deigning to acknowledge or thank him. They were paid well and given the perks of the servant’s quarter; that was thanks enough.

  The member of the Earone house staff Harper had mentioned was waiting in the detainment cell of the security block when they arrived. He was bound to a chair within the transparent walls. Lady Earone could see the bruising and blood around his fingertips; the result of Gandrid’s belief the information being given was not entirely true, no doubt.

  Gandrid was standing to one side, his hands crossed at his waist. He took a step towards her and opened his mouth to speak.

  She silenced him with an upraised hand.

  “I’ve been told it’s best I hear this for myself,” She said in icy tones. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harper turn his eyes to the floor, “So I intend to hear it all for myself.”

  She stepped up close to the armoured glass.

  “Tell me your story…” She paused.

  “Ralf Chivvum, my Lady.” Harper supplied.

  “Tell me your story Chivvum.” Lady Earone repeated.

  The man inside the glass looked at her with red rimmed eyes.

  “I’m sorry m’lady,” He whimpered, “He made me do it.”

  Lady Earone raised an eyebrow. She turned slightly toward Gandrid.

  “Harper informs me you detained this man for thieving credits,” She said, “How many credits was it he had stolen?” Gandrid didn’t hesitate in answering.

  “Two-thousand, ma’am. Transferred from the lord Martius’ account yesterday.”

  She turned her eyes back to Chivvum.

  “He forced you to take two-thousand credits from him?” She asked coolly.

  “Well, I mean…I mean, what he did was, well…” Lady Earone rolled her eyes.

  “Spit it out man or I’ll have Gandrid take the fingers from your leading hand. You’ll never…” She paused, turning this time to Harper. “What does this man do exactly?” She asked.

  Harper stepped forward on one leg, “Laundry attendant, my Lady.” He stepped back as his words finished.

  “You’ll never attend to laundry again!” She was aware it didn’t

  sound like the most terrifying of threats, but to lose his place in the Earone household would severely limit his prospects of finding another amongst the aristocratic families.

  “And I doubt very strongly you’ll be able to find alternative employment with just your wits.” She added, feeling irritated by the timidity of this worthless little man.

  “I’m sorry,” He said again.

  Gandrid stepped forward to wrap his knuckles against the thick glass threateningly.

  “M’lady.” Chivvum added hurriedly.

  “I do not require you to be sorry,” She said sternly, her patience already strained. “I require you to tell me what happened.” She waved her hand towards him, “Speak!” She commanded.

  Chivvum took a deep breath, clearly trying to gather his thoughts.

  “He came to me m’lady, Martius, your son m’lady. He came to me and said he wanted my clothes and that he’d give me credits if I’d get some for him. He insisted m’lady. I swear.”

  The words came out in a rush. “He was on about going travelling m’lady, about getting away and going to Sabaea and the tunnels and off Mars m’lady.” He stopped for breath, his face red.

  “Leaving Mars?” Lady Earone mused out loud.

  “Yes m’lady,” Chivvum said eagerly, all helpful desperation. “He went on and on about it m’lady. How he was gonna go to Sabaea and get someone to show him through the tunnels to Daedalia m’lady. He wants to go there to get off the planet somewhere you won’t know about m’lady.”

  “Daedalia?” She questioned, “You’re sure?”

  “Oh yes m’lady! He went on and on about it m’lady. It came a point I had to ask him to stop otherwise I’d never of gotten the clothes and gotten back in time.”

  He stopped talking, aware his eagerness to help may have landed him in a more serious position.

  Lady Earone narrowed her eyes. She’d crossed her arms as he talked. Now she raised her right hand to her mouth,

  drumming two fingers gently against her top lip as she thought.

  “In time.” She murmured.

  In the cell Chivvum panicked at the calculating look in her eyes.

  “I din’t mean, I mean m’lady, he wanted to go and he said I wasn’t to stop him m’lady. I would of said m’lady, but before I could your man he picked me up m’lady. I swear.”

  His eyes were pleading, his voice breaking as he sought to prove his innocence. Lady Earone didn’t take her eyes from him.

  “Gandrid, at what time were the credits transferred?” She asked.

  “Eleven-forty yesterday ma’am.” He replied immediately.

  “And at what time did you detain Chivvum here?”

  “About an hour ago m’lady.”

  She fixed Chivvum with a hard stare. “That’s an awfully long time, don’t you think?”

  Chivvum spluttered in his cell, starting to beg for mercy from her. She waved a hand and Gandrid muted the cell, leaving Chivvum to cry to himself.

  She turned away from his weeping figure to address the two men in the room.

  “Gandrid, get a detail dispatched to Sabaea immediately to bring my son home.” He nodded. To Harper she said, “Have the credits transferred to the family account and ensure my son has no further access to his funds.”

  “Yes my Lady.” Harper said with a slight bow and left.

  Lady Earone shook her head. The gesture may have looked sad from the outside, but it was frustration boiling inside her.

  How stupid the boy could be!

  It would serve no purpose to go gallivanting around the slums of Sabaea when he had a duty here in Prometheus.

  No doubt he felt he was rebelling against something.

  She would have to find a better way on ensuring he understood the burden that rested upon his shoulders, once he returned. His father was, well, his father was not the man he

  once was and it was time Martius understood he had to take the reins.

  “What would you like me to do with him m’lady?” Gandrid asked, gesturing to the sobbing form of Chivvum. She thought for a moment.

  “I suppose there was little he could do in the situation.”

  She pursed her lips, “But there again it see
ms he wouldn’t have mentioned my son’s absence were he not caught.” Her fingers drummed on her lip a little longer.

  “How many fingers would you say a person needed to successfully attend laundry?” She asked him.

  “I can’t say for sure my lady, but I reckon a body could get by with,” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Say two plus a thumb on each hand.”

  “Very good,” Lady Earone nodded, throwing one last glance to Chivvum.

  “See to it will you, but be sure to return him to the servants’ quarter when you’re done. He may resume his duties immediately.” Inside the glass cell Chivvum had closed his eyes and clasped his hands in prayer.

  “After all, I wouldn’t want people to think me unfair.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  “Captain Aitkin Cassini.” He rolled the words around his mouth, saying them out loud for the first time. In the quiet of the rehab-chamber they sounded strange. No doubt he’d get used to hearing them, to saying them.

  The room was quiet. His own recuperation had been on the open ward, sharing the space with men and women of every rank. His wounds had been less severe though. That was not to say they weren’t severe, just not to the same extent.

  He looked down on his friend, still inside the stasis field that was nourishing and repairing his damaged flesh and muscles.

  The surgeon apparatus had been employed, more than once by the look of the scaring, but when the destruction of a body was so complete, so thorough and total, there was only ever so much the surgeon could do.

  It was a marvellous machine, but sometimes the damage was just so deep the body had to be rebuilt from the inside out and that was something no machine could offer. Only the natural forming of cells would build something strong enough to endure. For that to happen what was needed was peace, vitamins, nutrients and time.

  Lots and lots of time.

  He looked at the face. There was little sign of damage left, the discolouration of the flesh almost completely healed. To look at from the outside, naked and exposed, a watcher could be forgiven for thinking he was healthy. His muscles were toned, evident below the taut, pale skin. He looked peaceful, like he was simply wrapped in the arms of a deep slumber.