by Casey Herzog
CHAPTER 8
The subjugation of Europa colony was as confusing as it was inglorious. No one knew what to make of it, least of all the members of Pluto and Neptune cohort who had spearheaded the operation. The accounts each party made of their experiences entering the facility created a baffling and contradictory narrative that made it impossible for the cohorts to know how to proceed with the locals.
Of the six teams that had split off to secure entrance to Europa base, three had encountered hostilities similar to what Peter and his team had experienced. One group had the surface to elevator inexplicably explode on them when they tried to open the doors. The other team reported a trap that seemed far more obvious, though equally sinister and malign in its intent. Someone had laid out barely concealed metal traps outside one the main entryways to the facility. The traps were metal and crudely made, but resembled the kind of vicious jaws hunters on Earth used to catch bears. These were easily avoided by the troops of Neptune and Pluto Cohort, but it still riled them to see the ‘welcome’ the Europans had put out for them.
Fortunately, despite the seemingly random acts of aggression thrown against them, the Unity had not lost any men in the taking of the station. This was all for the best, as Peter knew more than a few members of the team were looking for any excuse to start a fight with the Europans.
The two members of Peter’s team who had been hit by the truck suffered more mental trauma than physical injury. Their suits had absorbed much of the impact force from the truck and, even though the suit’s internal systems were shot to bits, life support remained, and radiation shielding inside their suits was not torn. Aside from some trauma and bruising, they were both fine. Still, the fact that no one had been grievously hurt in the taking of Europa base did not change the fact that they had encountered resistance.
“If you ask me, we should begin immediate interrogations of every soul on this station. We need to weed out those responsible for the attack and make them pay. It doesn’t matter how sloppy their methods were, or what their reasoning. They intended to kill us, and they need to answer for that.” Commander Icarus could be surprisingly eloquent when he wanted to be, and Peter watched as several people, including Minerva nodding along to his words.
Peter resisted the urge to say anything. He was already gaining a reputation for being an apologist for the Europans before they had even set foot on the moon. If he were to defend them here, he would likely find his position within the group weakened. He had to pick his fights carefully. Besides, even Peter was not without loyalty to his own people. Two members of his team could have been killed, and that was not an easy thing to overlook.
“Interrogation of the entire colony would be laborious and counterproductive to our mission.” Alphred spoke with his usual sense of absolute certainty. He alone seemed entirely unphased by the fact that they had almost lost two of their brothers.
“Counterproductive? Our mission was to secure the colony and make sure that Secessionist elements are quashed.” Icarus manoeuvred himself so that he now stood on the opposite side of the conference table to Alphred. Icarus, by his scowl and crossed arms, looked ready to pick a fight; Alphred just looked the same as he always did. It was just possible that Alphred wasn’t even aware of the animosity he was garnering.
“That is a rather liberal interpretation of our mission goal. If I might remind you of Admiral Gayle’s words, we are to secure the station and ensure the continuation of operations while guaranteeing the food and water supplied by the colony is kept out of Secessionist hands. If we begin operations here with a witch hunt and interrogate every person in the colony, then we will be forcing the operations to stall for days, maybe even weeks.” Alphred stood firm, his logical understanding of the mission giving him the high ground in the debate.
Icarus snorted. For a moment, he turned his back on Alphred and the rest of them. Peter couldn’t tell if it was a moment of anger, or whether Icarus was trying to hide his own indecision from the rest of them. When he turned back around, his face was set. “Very well. These Europan’s have already shown what they’re capable of in a fight, and they weren’t able to kill a single one of us. With proper guard and vigilance, they won’t be able to pull off such a stunt again.”
The small, quiet voice of Icarus’ second in command, Lauren Stanwell, added to her commander’s words. “It might be to our benefit if we use this to our advantage against the Europans.” All eyes turned to her at once, and Lauren blushed and seemed to actually shrink under the collective gaze of her fellows.
“What are you suggesting?” Peter encouraged.
“Well, the Europans don’t have to know we are forgoing investigation in order to ensure the continuation of their production. If we were to suggest that we are overlooking the matter as a show of good faith, we might appear far less oppressive a body.” Her eyes were cast downwards as she spoke, obviously uncertain of her own plan. “I mean, it might solidify the confidence of those in colony who support us.”
Peter nodded. Now that others had chimed in, he felt safe to push his opinion forward without earning reprisal. “It’s a good thought Lauren. When we were trying to get our people out from under that vehicle some of the colony came to help us. It’s obvious the traps and sabotage laid out for us was instigated only by a small number within the colony.”
“The question is, how small?” Icarus obviously held a grim view on matters, and Peter wondered if the man really trusted anyone who wasn’t wearing a Unity uniform.
Once again, it was the Neptune’s second commander who spoke. “The traps laid out for us were crude and hastily put together at best. While it is dangerous to make assumptions, I believe the simplicity and disorder of the sabotage points to a very small group acting against the wishes of the majority.”
Peter looked back to Icarus. Clearly, Lauren had been elected his second to provide the voice of reason to her battle minded leader.
“Fine. We will assemble the Europans and give them limited autonomy to continue their work as normal. But, we need to let them know we are not soft kids who are going to overlook their every transgression. When we address them, I want them to know, in no uncertain terms, that future acts of aggression will be met without leniency.”
“A fair compromise.” Alphred’s clipped words brought an end to the debate. With both cohort leaders in agreement on a course of action, the matter was now over.
Peter’s eyelids were heavy. He had not had a chance to sleep since leaving the Unity to take Europa colony, and that was almost forty-eight hours ago. Back on Earth, he and the others had been given training in endurance and working under extreme fatigue. However, there was a real difference between simulation exercises and the real thing. Right now, he had never felt more tired in his life, and he felt certain he would keel over on the cold metal walkway he patrolled in the next half hour.
The Unity’s magnanimous show of good faith to the Europans was announced over the station’s broadcast system. Until that point, the colonists had been confined to quarters. Now, the station was having a staggered return to operations, with key personnel in the facility being sent to their stations, or else made to advise members of Pluto and Neptune Cohort on the day-to-day running of the facility. It was a complex operation, and it meant that fully half the troops who had come down to Europa were still awake and working two days after their mission began.
Peter walked down the corridor slowly, looking back and forth, almost wishing for something to happen. If a pipeline burst or a fire broke out, that would really help to keep him awake. The task of wandering back and forth across a catwalk was positively mind numbing, and Peter could feel his braincells switching off one by one. It was great relief when his intercom began to buzz.
“Gabell. What’s going on?” Peter put the speaker to his ear, eyes shooting up and down the corridor twice to make sure there was nothing else that needed his attention.
“Hey, it’s Minerva.”
That was a surprise. Pete
r looked down at his communicator and checked the nametag on the screen. It really was Minerva. Her voice was different than normal. Since Mars, there had been a hard sharpness to her voice that seemed to stay with her no matter what the conversation. Now though, she sounded tired, worn down. As much as Peter did not want to, he found himself worrying. “Is this…Is this important?”
“Oh…no, it’s a personal call. I guess I shouldn’t be distracting you while you’re still on operations.”
Peter winced. For the first time in months it seemed like Minerva was attempting an honest conversation, and he had almost blown her off. “No, no. It’s fine, it’s just unexpected. Have you been put on rest shift?”
“Yeah. I don’t really need it though. My team was with the Dove during operations, so we were basically sitting on our asses.” There was a long silence, and Peter wondered if their connection had been cut off. Then, just as suddenly as Minerva stopped talking, she started again. “How are you holding up?”
“Tired,” Peter said honestly. He wanted to say more, wanted to banter and talk as they had before their mission became so serious. Still, he could not help but hold back.
“Do you want some company? I can help you patrol your section for a few hours.”
“It’d help me stay awake,” he answered honestly.
“I’m coming down then.”
It was a stilted exchange, awkward and clumsy. It almost felt like they were two foreigners trying to converse in two separate languages. Even so, it was an improvement.
After ten more minutes of patrolling the empty walkway, Peter spied Minerva as she turned out onto the corridor. Her great height and lithe frame were a dead giveaway. Her bald head shimmered under the ceiling lights as she looked both ways, finally noticing Peter and walking toward him with slow, cautious steps. Her eyes seemed to wander everywhere around, working hard not to look directly at him.
“How are you holding up?” Her voice was flat and lifeless. As much as she was asking after him, Peter couldn’t help feeling it was Minerva herself who needed someone to talk to.
“I’m fine. The garage incident was…rough, but no one was killed. Honestly, I’ve seen worse.”
Minerva knew he was referring to the fight with the terrorist on Mars. She nodded, and a silence fell between them for nearly a full minute as they privately reflected on their shared past.
“Is something wrong, Min?” Peter didn’t know how to ask the question, or what else he should say, so he just asked her straight out.
The Martian’s lip quivered. There might have been tears in her eyes, but before Peter could get a good look, she spun around. Even with her back turned though, the trembling of her shoulders told him something was definitely wrong. “I’m sorry.”
Peter felt a lump growing in his throat, but his body seemed frozen, unable to move nearer to comfort Minerva. “What’s bothering you? It’s not like you to get wound up. These last month’s you’ve been almost as straight laced and wooden as Alphred.”
Peter thought he heard her give a small chuckle, but the sound was broken as if by tears. “Oh God, don’t tell me I am turning into him. That’d be the worst.” Minerva took a few more seconds, then turned back around. Her eyes were red and wet, but, somehow, she had kept the floodgate of tears from flowing over. “Why don’t they want us here?”
Peter’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about.”
Minerva shook her head and began to take listless paces back and forth. “I know everyone on the Unity thinks I know everything about living out here in the void. I mean, I’ve spent my entire life drifting between the Mars and Lunar colonies. I always thought that meant I was of the same mind as those I grew up with. On Mars, the Secessionists were the enemy. Aside from a few radicals who got brainwashed, we all knew the Secessionists were the bad guys and that we needed to fight them. Now, we come out here, and it’s like we’re the villains for wanting to keep the people of Europa safe. They said themselves they’re not taking sides with us or the Secessionists…but now that we’ve come here… it’s… it’s.” Minerva couldn’t continue. She shook her head and took a deep breath loaded with frustration. The softness that had taken over her features hardened, and the steel glint that had been in her eyes for months suddenly returned. “Why can’t they see that we’re here to protect them? If they’re not fighting for the Secessionists, why take it upon themselves to try and sabotage us before we even arrive?”
Peter shrugged his shoulders. His body felt tense as Minerva’s fiercer side returned. “Perhaps it’s something you should ask them.”
“What?” Minerva looked at him like he had just spoken in tongues.
Peter tried to find the right words. “At the moment, we’ve got two sets of people on Europa. It’s us and them: Unity uniforms Europa colony uniforms. Put aside the mission, put aside Secessionists and Earth; we’re still two separate factions with our own agendas. We’re the ones who have come down with spears and swords, uninvited. Now we’re telling them how to work and policing them.”
“They’re still doing the same work though. What should it matter if we’re here to make sure the work is done properly and the supplies reach the correct people?” Minerva’s voice was becoming incredulous. Whatever feeling, guilt or confusion, that drove her to speak with him, it was now buried under a self-righteous anger. Peter didn’t have time for that.
“People never like to work knowing there’s someone looking over them with a weapon. I know that better than anyone.” Peter found his own emotions bubbling up. He had hoped meeting Minerva here might be good for something, perhaps allow for some kind of reconciliation between them. Instead, all it had done was piss him off. He took a deep breath, his next words coming out with deliberate slowness. “I think you should go and get some sleep. You don’t want to be tired for your next shift.”
CHAPTER 9
Peter knew he was dreaming. As he wandered the dark, subterranean caves, crawling on his hands and knees through tiny shafts that could collapse at any moment, he knew that none of it was real. Even with this knowledge though, the dream remained as terrifying and malign as it ever had. No matter how many times Peter told himself that it wasn’t real, another part of his mind whispered back, reminding him that it had been real once.
Peter had heard that if you somehow knew you were dreaming, you could wake yourself up, or else make your dream whatever you wanted it to be. This had never been the case for him. This dream was like some ghost train ride at a carnival. Once you were locked into your seat, you had no choice but to take the ride right to the very end.
He followed the steps, a prisoner to the memory.
At his age, Peter and those like him were expected to do two things, sift through dirt on the grinders, or squeeze into the tiny crevices where older miners couldn’t reach. There were many tunnels and holes in the mines that only a child could fit through. The instability of the mine meant that many of these could not be safely hollowed out, and so the only way to get at the diamonds was to send in those for whom space was no issue.
You were better off on the grinders. At age four, a lot of what went on in the mines went over Peter’s head. However, every child knew that those who went to mine in the small spaces didn’t always come back.
As he squeezed through the round gap, Peter could feel the wooden spruces shifting as he tried to shuffle past them. Every time they did, tiny fragments of rock and dirt would trickle down on him like a passing rain. His body froze up and he waited. He didn’t even feel scared, not really. Either the spruces would hold and he would be forced to continue on, or the shaft would cave in and that would be that. Peter had no great problem with the roof falling in on him. It happened enough times to others, and it seemed only natural that he’d have his turn.
The dream seemed to fast forward, his mind glazing over until Peter found himself laid on his back, picking at an exposed rock face with a chisel. His body was hot and slick with sweat, and the only two lights came
from a small glow lamp that lay by his side and the reflected light that bounced off the vein of diamond. Despite the heat, despite the aching in his joints, Peter felt light-hearted, almost excited. The Slavers had ways of incentivising workers beyond threats and beatings. Emerge from a bolt hole with a good-sized gem, and you could earn double rations, even extra hours sleep.
Even as he remembered the feeling of elation that gouging out that vein of diamonds elicited, Peter found himself recalling the bitter disappointment he had felt when he had presented them to his foreman. What he had taken for diamonds were just ordinary quartz rock. Worthless. He had wasted his time and the company’s. Instead of a reward and a kind word from his owners, Peter found himself sent to the grinders and ordered to make up the time he had wasted picking at worthless rocks.
Peter’s dream-self moved to the grinders without question, but the part of him that knew he was dreaming tried desperately to stop it. No matter how many times he had the dream, no matter how many times he relived that moment, the horror never lessened. The young boy began to sift through passing chunks of debris. A loud rumbling deafened him as the grinders swallowed up huge chunks of rock and ground them down to bare rubble in the hope of finding any fragment of precious diamonds.
Time distorted once again. With no way of telling the time in the eternal gloom, Peter could never tell if he had been working at any one job for five minutes or five hours. However long it had been, he had passed his limit. His eyes, which should have been focused like a laser on the conveyer belt, became lazy, and the world began to blur. Without even meaning to, he glanced upward toward one of the foremen who was chewing out one of the older boys.
There was something different. The men who owned him, who put him to work, were just as dirty and greasy as Peter. Their skin was stained with soot and their clothes were all frayed and torn. The foreman, though, had inexplicably changed. He now wore a smart clean zip up suit. It was quiet grey and bore a familiar logo on the shoulders. UNITY: Pluto Cohort. These words emblazoned under a picture of his ship encircled by the Earth sent a wave of confusion through Peter, and he felt a pain in his head. This was the first time the dream had changed in any way for him. It did not, however, alter what had to come next, what always came next.