Jupiter's Halo: Unbroken

by A P Heath

  “You’re up.” Was all he seemed able to manage.

  “I am sir.” Aitkin replied.

  Lanad seemed to sense the atmosphere in the room. He looked from Aitkin to Johs and back again.

  “Have I interrupted something here Captain?”

  It took a moment for Aitkin to realise he was being addressed.

  “Just catching up, sir.” He replied.

  Lanad had stopped at the threshold, his body preventing the door from swinging itself closed.

  “You don’t need to ‘sir’ me Aitkin.” He said, “Not after today at least. It’s ‘Captain’ in public and Titus in private.” He inclined his head slightly, “Got that?”

  Aitkin nodded slowly.

  “Today?” He asked, his mind still lagging slightly behind the conversation.

  “Your Confirmation.” Johs supplied.

  “Thank you Lieutenant,” Lanad said with a brief smile.

  “As Lieutenant Johs says Aitkin, today is your Captains’ Confirmation.” He gestured to the empty stasis field.

  “I was just coming to check you were going to be up to it. I’m glad to see you will not require a postponement. We need to get you prepared.” Lanad held out a hand to beckon Aitkin towards the door.

  Aitkin was still muzzy but his mind clamped on the familiar things around him. He was on Luna. He was home. He must remember that. It was important.

  The Confirmation was technically just a formality, but that didn’t mean it would be easy. He had to stand before a committee of Central Command Directors and be interviewed. It was unheard of in the history of the Six Companies for a candidate to be rejected at this point, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be a first time. The questioning would be hard and unforgiving. He would have to keep his wits about him and his mind focused. He suspected that would be difficult given his inability to do so over the last few minutes. It was getting easier though. Already he felt more like himself, less detached.

  The committee would include the Director General himself, Aitkin knew, as well as five other members of high office. Each would ask him three questions about his character, his history and his loyalty to the Deorum. Once he had answered in full each member of the committee would cast a sealed vote as to his worthiness. The vote must be unanimous.

  Captain Lanad had once described it to him as the second most unpleasant experience of his life.

  When Aitkin had asked what the first was, Lanad had simply replied, “I don’t remember.” Aitkin remembered the look on his face; a strange mix of knowing and discomfort. He felt like that should make sense to him now, but he couldn’t understand why. He took a step towards the Captain.

  My fellow captain now.

  A memory opened, kicking words from his mouth.

  “But, what about the Captains’ Test?” He asked, stopping short

  of where Lanad stood.

  Captain Lanad pursed his lips. His eyes flicked to Johs and back again.

  “Aitkin,” He said kindly, “You’ve already taken the Captains’ Test.”

  Lanad’s words were the key. Aitkin’s mind unlocked, the fog lifted and suddenly he remembered.

  He had stood over Johs as the med-techs worked to save his life. He’d seen them argue over what the surgeon apparatus could do, heard them urging him to seek his own treatment as his blood dripped to the infirmary floor of the Pride.

  He remembered writing his report on the mission and the part he played in it, starting the physio regime to bring his body back to fighting strength.

  He remembered being summoned by Lord Admiral DeMarchek; the words they’d spoken.

  “The Test will show how just strong you really are.”

  “The Test will show you exactly where your limits lie.”

  “If I’m successful they’ll be a procedure to remove the specifics…” He said to himself.

  “Yes,” Said Captain Lanad. “That’s the way of it.”

  Aitkin’s returning memory brought with it his feeling of purpose. The First and Second Companies had suffered terrible losses. The Second would be relying on him to lead them as they rebuilt their shattered first squad. No doubt he would lose promising NCO’s and marines to fill the holes in the First Company.

  There were trying times ahead and his Confirmation was the first challenge to face.

  “I need to prepare.” He said, mirroring Lanad’s words.

  He made to walk from the room with purposeful strides but found Lanad holding his hands up to stop him and Johs calling out to him at the same moment.

  He stopped, looking between the two in confusion.

  “Maybe we should get someone to bring you some clothes before you head out.” Lanad said. He didn’t try to hide the smile on his lips and in his eyes.

  To the sound of Johs’ chuckling laughter Aitkin looked down and realised he was still completely naked.

  “You might be right there, Titus.” He replied, returning his fellow captain’s smile.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Philp wasn’t very happy about something. He kept smacking his hand against the top of the barrel he was sitting on and muttering. Rig couldn’t hear the words he was saying, but he’d seen Philp angry before and knew how it made him look.

  He hoped it wasn’t because of him. He always tried to do what he was told and he always told Max if he wasn’t sure about something or didn’t understand.

  He couldn’t think of a reason why Philp would be mad at him, but then he hadn’t known last time either.

  Rig rubbed his arm, hugging himself tight as he remembered the pain of Philp’s fists landing. The big man had just kept on going, his huge fists dropping on Rig like hammers. He’d been so afraid he’d just curled up with his arms over his head and cried. That had made Philp even angrier and he’d hit him harder. His arms had hurt for days afterwards.

  Max had stopped it. Max always looked after him and he’d stopped Philp from hurting him. Rig didn’t want Philp to hit him again. He was sure he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d worked really hard.

  Philp had been shouting when Rig came back to their spot by the furnaces.

  Max had said they could stay there for a while, so he’d sent Rig and Sparker to scrounge anything from the recycling heaps that could be used to make their little space more comfortable.

  They’d dragged back broken chairs, the barrel Philp was currently sat on, his long legs still reaching the floor with flat feet, and other bits of boarding to build a makeshift wall.

  Max had sent Rig off to run the tunnels and deliver his presents again and when he got back the fire had been dug into a proper pit and there were the makings of three seats around it. They were arranged in a semicircle directly across from his bed set back in the alcove.

  It wasn’t exactly a room now, but it marked a little space that was theirs. The bed was his bed now; Max had been very clear about that. He told Rig it was his reward for all his hard work.

  Rig sat on it as he watched Philp mutter and Max stare at the fire.

  Sparker was not around right now, but Rig didn’t know where he’d gone. He knew better than to ask.

  He looked at Philp again, wondering what had made him so upset.

  “Tell your stinkin’ little pet to stop gawping at me!” Philp said to Max. Rig could see the muscles of his bare shoulders and arms flexing.

  “Rig,” Max said over the fire, “why don’t you get your head down. It’s been a long day.”

  Rig nodded and lay down on his bed. The extra material he’d found about the piles of scrap for the incinerators had padded it out more, making it almost comfortable to lie on.

  He rested his head on his hands, looking at Max across the flames between them. Max lifted a hand and wiggled his finger in a circular motion. Rig knew what he meant. He rolled onto the other side, his face close to the dirty rock of the wall and the warmth of the fire on his back.

  “What’s your problem with him?” He heard Max saying.

  “He’s always starin�
��!” Philp replied. “’E stares and stares and stares. Drives me fuckin’ mad it does.”

  He heard the pop and crackle of the plastic on the fire, smelled the chemical tinge as it burned. The fire was fed with whatever they found in the scrap piles. Whatever he found usually.

  Rig knew he wasn’t bright, but he thought any smell like that shouldn’t be something a person should breathe in. He shuffled to let a hand free and pulled the sleeve of his ragged jersey over his mouth and nose.

  “He’s harmless.” Max again.

  “He might be harmless, but that don’t mean he ain’t fuckin’ weird.” Philp sounded a bit less angry now.

  “Weird he is, but useful too. He gets hisself in places I could never go.” Max’s voice sounded almost proud.

  Rig wondered if they were talking about him. He didn’t want Philp to be angry with him, but he loved the idea that Max might be proud.

  “Just leave him be alright?” He heard a sigh and Philp’s voice.

  “Fine! Fine.” There was a scuffing noise; Philp getting off his barrel. “Keep your bloody pet. Marry him why don’t you?”

  That confused him. Maybe they weren’t talking about Rig after all. Max wouldn’t marry Rig, Max liked ladies. He’d told Rig about the girls he met and sometimes Rig heard him telling the others.

  The way he talked to Sparker and Philp about it was a lot different than how he talked to Rig. When he told Rig about the women he met they always sounded happy, but when he talked to the others sometimes it sounded like the girls didn’t like him at all.

  Sometimes it sounded like they were scared of him. The others laughed when they talked, but Rig never really understood what they found so funny. Being scared wasn’t funny, it was horrible.

  “What’s up your arse today anyway?” Max asked. Maybe that was why Philp was so angry. Maybe sitting on the barrel was making him sore.

  “Did you hear about Sabaea?” Rig knew that word. It was one of the places above the tunnels. He’d never been, but he knew Philp and Sparker had come to the tunnels from there.

  “No, what about it?” Max didn’t know. Rig felt surprised, Max always knew everything.

  “The Movement was having a march. Y’know, for the air and the food and deaths an’ that.” Rig didn’t hear Max say anything before Philp carried on.

  “They was all peaceful, no messin’ or nothin’,”

  He heard Philp’s voice dropping and the groan of a chair as he sat near the fire.

  “Then out of nowhere some bastards started shooting people!”

  Rig tried not to make a noise. He knew what that meant. People had been dying.

  “What?” Max asked, sounding like he didn’t believe Philp. “They just started shootin’? For no reason?” He really sounded like he didn’t believe it.

  “I fuckin’ swear brother!” Philp called Max ‘brother’ every now

  and again. Rig knew Max didn’t like it.

  “Don’t give me that ‘brother’ shit.” Rig smiled. “Just ‘cause I’m down here don’t mean I’m downtrodden.”

  “We’re all brothers an’ sisters down here!” Philp had said this a lot. Sparker usually agreed with him, but Max didn’t.

  Once he’d asked Rig if he was their brother and when Rig had said he didn’t have any brothers Philp had spat in his face and called him scav. Sparker had spat on him too, following Philp’s lead. Rig didn’t much like Philp or Sparker, but Max had explained their job was to keep him safe, so Rig had to accept them being around. As much as he disliked them he really hated the idea of Max getting hurt.

  “You might not want to accept it, but it’s true.” Philp was going on, “If you’re down here you’re one of us. If you’re up there you’re one o’ them. Simple as that.”

  “Whatever,” Max said, “So what happened to these guys in Sabaea?”

  “There was a bit o’ riotin’”, Philp sounded more sad than angry now. “A load of people got killed or hurt trying to get away and the bastards what did the shootin’ got their heads caved in.”

  Rig didn’t like the sound of that. It all made him feel queasy.

  “So who were they?” Max asked.

  “Who were who?”

  “The people shootin’. Were they Sab pigs or what?”

  Rig could hear how little Max was really interested in his tone. He was just being nice to Philp, letting him tell his story so he wouldn’t be so annoyed anymore.

  “No, no they was somethin’ else.” Philp was quiet for a second, “Some bastards from one of the big families down south.”

  “Do you mean the actual personal security from a family in the south?”

  Max’s voice had changed. He sounded like he did when he asked Rig about the people he took Max’s gifts to.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “What did they look like? Did anyone say?” Max kept asking questions, “What were they doing in Sabaea?”

  “I don’t know.” Philp sounded annoyed. “Why do you care

  about them so much? People died. Our people!”

  Max was quiet for a bit.

  “I think you need to show me where this all went down.” He said.

  “I think it might be important for…for the cause.”

  Rig wasn’t used to hearing Max talk like that. Usually whenever Philp said something like that Max would shout him down or tell him it was a waste of time.

  “Really?” Philp sounded as surprised as Rig felt.

  “Yeah, really.” Max sounded more confident now. Rig could hear his feet shuffling. He was getting up.

  “You wanna go now?”

  “Yes Philp. I want to go now. You gonna show me or are you just gonna sit there like a useless bag of shit?” Rig heard the slap of Philp’s chair hitting the ground as he stood up quickly.

  “Yeah, yeah I’ll show you right now!” Philp sounded excited.

  “Rig.” Max was saying his name. “Rig. Wake up!”

  Rig rolled over, rubbing his eyes so Max would believe he had really been asleep.

  “Get yourself up fella,” Max said to him, “We’re taking a little trip.”

  “We’re gonna leave the tunnels?” Rig asked. Max gave him a funny look, his eyes nearly closed and his mouth closed. Rig realised Max knew he hadn’t been sleeping. He waited for Max to say something about it, but he didn’t.

  “Yeah,” He said with a nod. “We gotta go talk to some miners and you’re gonna be my canary.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  “Your appointment has arrived Lord Admiral.”

  The voice of DeMarchek’s personal aide invaded his concentration. He had been reading. The book he chose was an old paper version of the text, a rarity in these times of technology. DeMarchek liked to feel the rough texture of the old worn pages against his fingers.

  The text he carefully thumbed his way through now was not old, its contents pre-dated the fall of Earth and the Deorum, but its pages were less than a hundred years in age. He’d been gifted the book, a present from his father to mark his passing out from the Academy. It had been printed at great effort and expense, just for him. He treasured it.

  “Send him into my office.” He replied through the comm link.

  A moment later the door to his private office opened inwards and Aitkin Cassini entered. He stepped inside the door, letting it close behind him.

  “Ah Lieutenant,” DeMarchek looked up from his open book and gestured for Cassini to come closer, “Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable.” He said, waving to the low, thickly cushioned chair on the opposite side of his desk.

  “I’d prefer to remain standing if I may, Lord Admiral.” Cassini replied.

  He kept his head straight, his eyes resting on a point somewhere above and behind the Lord Admiral’s head.

  DeMarchek nodded, gave him a smile and leaned back in his chair, laying the book flat on his desk. The wall to his left hung his ceremonial armour, and trophies and accolades he had gathered from various military engagements.

&n
bsp; To his right the entirety of the wall was taken up by his viewing pane, currently showing an image on Luna of the Earth rising. Behind him was his collection of printed books, arrayed by author.

  All of it was interesting to glance upon and all of it was shunned by the officer stood at attention before him now.

  He marvelled at the self-control and wondered if he’d ever

  really been the same.

  “How are your injuries healing?” He asked. Cassini glanced down at the strapping that held his left arm across his chest.

  “They’re fine thank you sir,” He said, returning his gaze to the empty patch of the rear wall he seemed to favour so much. “I’m still getting headaches, but my vision has returned to full efficiency.”

  DeMarchek looked over the man stood in front of his desk. He’d seen the injury report when they brought him from the Peregrine and into the infirmary. DeMarchek had wanted an immediate debrief and Lieutenant Cassini had been the only officer of any merit left standing by the time he’d ordered the marines retreat.

  When they brought him in he was unconscious, much to the Lord Admiral’s frustration. His body looked broken; his head a mess of dried blood, hastily patched with field bandaging on the drop ship’s return to the Pride. Most of the left side of his face was crushed by some horrendous impact and his chest was half caved in. DeMarchek wouldn’t have expected him to live, but the medi-techs assured him the damage looked far worse than it was. Brain function was normal, if somewhat erratic and nothing had been so badly damaged that the surgeon apparatus wouldn’t be able to put it back together.

  After that, they said, he’d just need a few days for his body to heal and get back to a level of fitness that would allow him to continue his duties.

  The Admiral had thoughts on that, but first he had questions.

  “Tell me Lieutenant,” DeMarchek said over steepled fingers, “What did you discover on GS-114?”

  Cassini was quiet for a moment. DeMarchek could see the man’s mind working.

  “A new enemy sir.” He said briefly, “I cannot explain the reasons behind it, but they were incredibly difficult to eliminate.”