Jupiter's Halo: Unbroken

by A P Heath

  He was pushed again and he leaned back into it, taking a grudging step forward, but no more.

  Another push, another step. Martius felt a smug smile cross his face. He was not going to make this easy.

  The journey from his room to the street was not a long one, but Martius made sure it was as difficult as he could make it. He refused to take a step without being nudged, shoved or pushed into it. When they reached the stairway he tipped his body forward, leaning out over the drop so his guard had to counter balance his weight by leaning back.

  As they reached the bottom he righted himself and chuckled with grim satisfaction as the man holding him was suddenly unbalanced and had to grab at the shaky hand rail to stop himself from falling backwards.

  Out on the street the markets of Sabaea were as thronged as ever. The hotel he’d been staying in opened onto the main avenue of the market district and as they stepped out from between the stalls that crowded either side of the doorway, Martius could see the street was filled with more bodies.

  They were marching from north to south. He could see placards carried above their heads. The words scrawled on their boards calling for miners’ rights and safer air. Martius wasn’t entirely sure what they were so upset about, but whatever it was there certainly were a lot of people in Sabaea who wanted to voice their opinion on it.

  They shouted as they walked. It was always loud in the market district, but today the mix of vendors’ calls and the marchers shouts made a furious cacophony of sound. Martius was surprised it hadn’t woken him sooner.

  The two security men who’d walked out first were eyeing the crowd as it swept past. Martius guessed they intended to wait until the flood of people had subsided before taking him to whatever transport they had waiting. That didn’t feel difficult enough to Martius.

  He pitched forwards, trying to stroll out of the lea of the stalls and join the marching miners.

  The guard holding him fought against the movement and pulled him back, but Martius’ sudden steps had afforded him some ground. He pulled forwards with all the effort he could manage, straining against the superior strength that held him on the spot.

  A groan escaped his mouth and Martius saw a few of the

  nearest faces turn to look at him. He realised a lot of the marchers were wearing jackets similar to his. He could see the mine-sign scrawled over their arms and backs. The symbols meant nothing to him, but their pattern was familiar. An idea struck him.

  “Rights for miners!” Martius shouted at the top of his voice.

  He didn’t know what rights they wanted, or why they needed to march for them, but it was written on the placards so it seemed like a good gambit.

  The man holding his wrists pulled hard, jerking him back violently. He scanned the bobbing boards.

  “Clean air for all!” He yelled. His arms were twisted painfully, bringing him side on to the guard who held him.

  “DEATH TO THE OPPRESSORS!” Martius screamed into his face.

  He could hear a commotion behind him. Martius turned awkwardly to see the other two guards grappling with men who had stepped out of the march.

  As he struggled he saw others lowering their boards and heading over to join in.

  “Brothers!” He shouted to them, wriggling his shoulders frantically.

  The guard holding him swore loudly and Martius felt his arms wrenched as he was thrown to the floor. He scrambled back against the doorway as the guard stepped over him and ran to aid his fellows.

  Martius saw one of the miners throw a punch and heard the dull thud as it connected against the side of a head. He saw the recipient go down under the force of the blow. Watched as the guard who had been holding him drew a pistol from under his coat and aim it high.

  Martius struggled to his feet, using the frame of the door for purchase. He was halfway up when he heard the first shot. It rang out across the crowded street, overriding the already deafening background noise. Martius heard the screams of those frightened by the sudden noise, the yells and shouts of those angered by it. The street erupted into panic. People were running and pushing to get away.

  Martius saw the wisdom in their choice and made to follow suit. Ahead were the Earone security guards, all three now fighting and wrestling with men from the march. They were thoroughly outnumbered, but were putting up quite a fight.

  To either side he was boxed in by the curtained walls of market stalls. There was only one place left. Martius turned and headed back into the hotel he’d left only minutes before.

  He stumbled to the stairs, reaching the first step as he heard another shot fired in the street. The noise level rose again and Martius threw himself up the stairs. He fell hard, cracking his jaw on the hard edge of a step, but scrambled back to his feet to keep going. More shots were fired. The sounds were deadening as he left the open door behind, but they were still the noises of violence and panic.

  Martius made it to the hallway, to the open door. He flung himself inside, kicking the door closed with his foot. It banged against the frame where the lock had been smashed and stopped ajar.

  Martius leaned against it, sliding down the rough surface as his legs buckled.

  The noise from outside hammered against the dirty clouded window that faced onto the street. He could hear the screams and shouts; the crashes of impacts on stalls and the crackle of fires starting.

  His arms pinned below him, Martius sat crumpled against the door and wept. The tears spilled out from his terror and ran down his cheeks. He sat and cried; snuffling and afraid and waited for it all to be over.

  FORTY-SIX

  Aitkin opened his eyes. Dazzling light blinded him and forced him to screw them shut again. Behind his closed lids colours flashed with the after images. He thought of the dream. It reminded him of swirling colours and music and…a name?

  His mind felt foggy, like he was trying to examine the memories through a shroud. There had been a face, a strange face. He tried to see the details clearly, but they slipped away from him.

  There had been pain, he knew and something else; A feeling. A feeling that made him want to smile. He couldn’t pin it down, but the attempt brought a wave of emotion and security with it.

  He tried to open his eyes again, lifting his lids slowly as the light poured in. It still hurt, but the shock of his first glance had diminished.

  The air above him shimmered, blurring the view beyond it. The ceiling above him was white from edge to edge. Its surface was marked by three long illuminating strips that ran the length of the room.

  He was naked, he could feel the air on his skin from toes to his brow. The realisation didn’t worry him. The more of the room that came into focus, the more he was sure he was in a medical facility. The room was silent, but for a low grade rumble that issued from somewhere off to his left. It was inconsistent, coming and going at short intervals. It sounded odd, as if it didn’t fit with the rest of the environment.

  Aitkin strained to move his head, expecting it to be held firmly in place. His neck twisted with ease and his head shot left as he overcompensated for a retraining force that wasn’t there.

  Why did I think I’d be held down? The thought was a confusing one.

  He’d been convinced, simply expected not to be able to move his head, but that was ridiculous. Of course he’d be able to move, he was in an infirmary, not…not…

  Once again the thoughts skittered away from his mind’s focus.

  Something else replaced them. He could see the cause of the background noise that had struck him as so strange. In the corner, slumped with his back against the wall and his long legs stretched out in a V shape before him, was Sergeant Imtel Johs.

  He was snoring loudly with each breath he drew in, quiet on the exhale.

  Aitkin couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his friend. His features were indistinct through the haze, but Aitkin could see bandaging at his left shoulder.

  A vision flashed inside his mind; Johs bellowing in pain as his arm tore free at
the shoulder, blood splashing on the metal decking.

  He shook the image away. Johs had been injured, he remembered now. Another memory surfaced, a dark hand coming down over Johs’ head as he lay prone. The crunch of bone giving way to the metal it was smashed against beneath. He shivered.

  The memory brought with it a terrible sadness, a vivid anger. He had thought Johs dead in those moments, he realised. Seeing the big wise-cracking sergeant now, damaged but alive, flooded him with relief and a profound happiness.

  I must be back on the Pride, he thought, or even Luna!

  It was a heady feeling to know he was home, at least in one form or another. Either way he was in an infirmary, although the room itself was not familiar enough for him to discern whether outside the walls would be the vast confines of the fleet flagship, or the breathless atmosphere of Luna.

  It didn’t matter. Either way, discovering the answer would only bring him more joy.

  He remembered words being spoken to him. They were indistinct echoes in his mind. Was it the voice of the Lord Admiral he could hear? Maybe it was Johs. Maybe someone else.

  His eyes rested on the blurred outline of his sleeping friend.

  “Wake up.” He croaked. His voice sounded dry and frail. Aitkin swallowed hard, trying to clear his throat.

  “Wake up!” He tried again, a little louder this time.

  In the corner Johs stirred with a grunt. His eyes remained closed.

  Aitkin waited to see if he’d wake, but within a moment the rhythm of his snoring restarted. He shifted on the metal beneath him, realising his legs were free to move. He’d thought they were tied down, but as he lifted his head he could see his body was free of any restraint. The expectation of being immobilised was hard to shake, but for the life of him he couldn’t understand why it was so strong.

  He pulled his legs up, bending at the knee as he rolled his body over on the metal slab. His muscles felt numb from lack of movement, his actions slow and clumsy. He managed to roll fully onto his side and braced his hands flat, pushing himself into a sitting position and letting his legs swing from the side of his gurney.

  An alarm sounded loudly and suddenly. Aitkin flung his hands over his ears as it echoed deafeningly in the small room. In the corner Johs woke with a start. He was half standing, his one arm outstretched toward Aitkin and shouting muddled words, before his eyes had even opened.

  “Get the fucking field…Hand out!” He blurted. His eyes opened as he straightened and widened as he saw Aitkin, awake and upright, with a pained look on his face and his hands clasped at the sides of his head.

  “What is that noise?” Aitkin tried to shout, his voice still weak and barely carrying over the siren sound.

  Johs pointed at the small metal rectangles at either end and shouted back.

  “The stasis field.” It wasn’t as helpful an answer as Aitkin had hoped for.

  He looked around, his eyes still squinting in the bright lights.

  “How do we turn it off?” Johs stood still for a moment, his mouth open.

  Aitkin threw his arms out in questioning frustration.

  Johs seemed to snap out of his momentary funk and lumbered forward.

  He grabbed Aitkin’s arm by the wrist and pulled him upright. Aitkin’s feet hit the floor and the alarm stopped.

  His knees buckled under his weight, but Johs held him upright in a firm supporting grip.

  “Thanks.” Aitkin said as he tried to stand with his own strength.

  “Not a problem, sir.” Johs replied. He loosened his grip, letting go of Aitkin’s arm but keeping his hand close.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Aitkin said, waving the hand away gently and standing a little straighter.

  “Where are we?” He asked, glancing around the bare white walls.

  “Luna,” Johs replied. “The Companies’ Infirmary attached to the Academy.”

  Aitkin nodded. He knew the place well. He’d spent many a night on the lower levels, where injured cadets were treated, during his training. Since he started active duty with the First Company he’d only returned here once; after the incident on AM-960, but even that had been as a visitor rather than a patient.

  His balance was returning and he took a hesitant step, feeling the cold of the hard polished floor beneath his bare foot.

  “Glad to see they come running when a patient could be in strife.” Johs said.

  He’d moved to the door and was staring through the small window.

  “What?” Aitkin asked. He was distracted. His head felt strange; not painful exactly, but definitely not right. He raised a hand and slid it through the short hair covering his scalp.

  “I’m just saying, an alarm goes off, you expect the medi-buggers to come running right?” Johs carried on, seemingly unaware of Aitkin’s wandering attention.

  “But there’s not one in sight! Not a single one.” He turned back from the window briefly. “I’m half tempted to go break a couple of their legs and see how quickly they get attention.”

  “Okay,” Aitkin said quietly, “If you like.” He looked at his hands, turning them over and back again.

  His fingers. There was something about his fingers. He brushed them together slowly, looking at the thin white lines, then shook his head. It would come to him.

  Johs spun to face him.

  “What?”

  “What?”

  “You just said okay to me wandering off and breaking a med-tech’s legs.” He gave Aitkin a concerned look. “Are you alright?”

  Aitkin smiled, “Sorry,” He said pressing a hand over his eyes and drawing it down his face.

  “My head’s all over the place. It feels like someone’s pulled my brain out, poked holes in it and put it back in the wrong way round.”

  Johs threw a glance to the metal table and its now empty stasis field.

  “I’m pretty sure they don’t do that sort of thing here.” He said slowly.

  Aitkin sighed, “I didn’t mean literally Sergeant.”

  Johs pulled himself up straight, “I think you’ll find it’s Lieutenant Johs now sir.” He said in a haughty tone.

  “I’d thank you to remember that in front of the marines… Captain.”

  Aitkin made to correct him and stopped.

  “Captain?” He asked instead, the single word sounding strange outside his own head. Strange, but somehow right.

  “Wow, they really did do a number on you eh sir?” Johs laughed as he spoke.

  He walked across the small room in two strides and placed a comradely hand on Aitkin’s shoulder.

  “Maybe you got out of the stasis field a little early, sir.” A flash of something crossed Johs’ big open face.

  “Er…how did you get out of the stasis field?” He asked.

  “What do you mean?” Aitkin replied. “I just got up and then that alarm damn near blew my eardrums out.”

  He gestured to the corner where Johs had been sleeping.

  “You were right there!”

  “I know, I know sir, it’s just…” Johs waved a hand into the field, the alarm beeped for a moment as his fingers passed through.

  “You’re not meant to wake up until the field is deactivated. That’s kind of the point of a stasis field.”

  Johs pulled his hand slowly from Aitkin’s shoulder and stepped back. He gave his friend a sly look.

  “What happened back there?” He asked.

  Aitkin felt lost.

  “Back where?” He turned to look at the table he’d previously been laid out on, “I told you, I just woke up.”

  Johs shook his head and waved his index finger.

  “No, no. No I mean on the station. On GS-114. What happened on that station?”

  Johs was still backing away.

  “One minute we’re both down and dying and the next…” Johs waved his one arm, the gesture conveying his confusion.

  “The next I’m waking up with the bloody med-techs measuring me up for new parts and you’re...well…” His voic
e trailed off for a moment.

  “I keep getting congratulated on our kill count. I had to put it in the report!”

  He waved his hand back and forth between them, “But we didn’t kill them. Did we?” His eyes stared into Aitkin’s, searching for an answer. “Did we?”

  Aitkin didn’t even notice the drop in etiquette. His memory was a jumble of disconnected images.

  Grenades exploded. His comm link filled with the cries and shouts of his fellow officers and their marines. He saw Bolthosian, the hulking lieutenant stumbling away, supported by marines on both sides and trailing blood with every step. Augustine Johs and the bodies of her squad. Lying down, still. They were all lying still.

  He saw the tears in the trans-shaft shutters. The slumped body of Sergeant Riesen, his head a deflated ball. He saw the pain and fury in Johs’ eyes.

  Screams filled his ears. Screams of rage and terror. Were

  they his or was it just the comms; the voices of others dying beyond his reach. Pain flared, he shuddered. A dark figure was over him, bearing down, hurting him. He tried to roll away, but he couldn’t. He was stuck, powerless to fight back, to stop the pain. The figure was closer, leaning in. He saw the face, just darkness devoid of features. It came closer. He could hear its whispered breaths. He smelled the stench, saw the glint of light reflecting on metal. A shadow was falling over him. The last shadow he would ever see. There was a flash; something felt more than seen and all was gone. A name floated into his mind, alone and unfamiliar.

  Mylus.

  His eyes re-focused on Johs’ face.

  “I don’t know.” He said quietly.

  Johs leaned against the wall behind him, his body deflating as he looked down at the floor.

  “None of it made sense,” He said, his head shaking sadly. “Not one bloody bit of it.”

  Aitkin was about to speak when the door opened. It swung in and Captain Lanad stepped into the small room. His face was full of surprise at the sight of Aitkin standing in the middle of the room.