by Casey Herzog
“And I am meant to be the representation of our compassionate side?” Peter finally felt he understood. He was being used as he had been on Earth. He was about to become a convenient puppet for spinning the Admiral’s own brand of propaganda.
“Exactly.” The Admiral smiled. The wrinkles around his mouth stretched as he beamed his satisfaction at Peter. “The Unity is the first warship to embark from Earth, but our mission is one of peace. People, even our own crew too readily forget that our job is to secure peace and prosperity to the Solar System. If we wanted to, we could easily deal with the Secessionist threat. If we were only intent on wiping them out we could have loaded Unity with a missile for every Secessionist held base and station. It would be the easiest thing to wipe the Secessionists from the Solar System. However, Earth chose a different path. Rather than cut off its own leg to deal with the cancer spreading through the system, we chose the surgical strike. Too often, people forget why we fight with the spear and the sword. We do it so that the homes of those who live in the outer systems are not destroyed. We do it because we wish the people here to live and prosper. It is now on you Peter to represent to these Europans the best of what the Unity and the Earth League represents.”
Peter was sure the Admiral was intending to butter him up, to bloat his ego by stressing the importance of his task. However, all Peter felt was a churning in his stomach like he was about to be sick. He was being made to be a media puppet once again. It may have been to a smaller crowd and there may not have been swarms of reporters and television cameras, but the feeling was the same. “How exactly will I know how far to go with this? What if I push for freedoms and concessions the Europans shouldn’t be given?”
The Admiral frowned. “Do not make excuses to try and get out of this, Peter. Commander Icarus will, of course, be running all matters through me and the Chiefs of Staff on a closed channel. If we hear anything we dislike, we will make sure Icarus puts an end to it. However, I trust your judgment, Peter and do not think you will let us down.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Peter didn’t sound enthusiastic, but he didn’t care.
“Very good. I wish you luck in your work, Peter.”
The line cut abruptly, and Peter was left staring at his own face reflected in the black screen.
CHAPTER 14
The oppression that fell over Europa station was hard to bear. It had to be worse for the Europans, but it was little better to be on the side of the oppressors. Being made to keep a constant guard on the colonists at all times, watching their every move with latent suspicion took its toll. Unless you were predisposed to treating the charges like criminals, the work of breaking their spirit and keeping them in line was both miserable and abhorrent. Fortunately for Icarus, there were more than a few between Neptune and Pluto cohort who went at their new duties with worrisome enthusiasm.
Ugly reports circulated during briefings. There had been several instances of cohort members using physical violence against colonists who appeared to be in breach of the new order. When Peter listened to these reports, it felt as if his people were avidly looking for excuses to exert authority upon the Europans, and his sense of unease grew daily.
The worst report that had passed over the conference table regarded a member of Neptune cohort who struck a colonist for being unable to explain why a valve had become blocked in the water treatment plant. Buoyed by fanatical zeal, the Unity officer jumped to the immediate conclusion the line had been sabotaged and took to beating the man with a forceful smack from his spear shaft. According to the reports, he then threatened to beat the Europan into a coma unless someone fixed the problem.
Peter hoped reports like these were slightly exaggerated by those who bore witness to them, but all too often station surveillance monitors bore out the tragic truth for all to see.
“It is rather worrisome. The countermeasures put in to keep the population obedient and working to production quota is working for now, but how long before fear gives way to something sinister. If we continue this way, the Europans will almost certainly come to the conclusion that Secession is a good idea, if only as an excuse to rid themselves of us.” Alphred summed up the problem quite eloquently, though fell short of offering a solution. He looked to Peter, his expression becoming more and more perturbed as his third officer made no comment.
“Gabell.” When the long lapse in conversation became too unbearable, Icarus took the reins. “You had good relations with the Europans before the unfortunate attack. Have the Europans come to you at all to voice concern?”
Peter stood in the corner of the control center, his gaze not with the Commanders, but with the vid monitors. He had, of course, heard everything Alphred and Icarus had said. Both were trying to lead him into his shining moment, give him a platform from which to suggest some bold scheme to help ease the Europans’ burdens. Neither Icarus or Alphred were good actors, and Peter was surprised Minerva, Lauren and the rest didn’t see the obvious set up of this phony conversation.
“No, not really.” He answered honestly. “The colonists haven’t said a word to me since we dispatched the four criminals to the Unity for interrogation and execution.”
Alphred’s face took on a rare hint of disappointment. “Really, they haven’t exchanged even a word?”
“I wonder if I might have a brief word with you in private, Peter.” Icarus began to stalk away into the corridor, and Peter had no choice but to follow behind him. The Commander’s veneer of politeness lasted right up until the door slammed shut, leaving them alone
“You know, sometimes I think you are deliberately going out of your way to undermine my authority on this mission and make me look bad in front of the Admiral, Gabell.” Icarus stood inches from Peter’s face, so close that he could feel the Commander breathing on him as he spat out his frustration.
“Look, I’m not Gandhi,” Peter snapped back, putting aside all the respect he owed the cohort commander. I don’t have some magic wand that makes people warm up to me or confide in me. Right now, I’m just another teenage army boy with a uniform. That isn’t going to change unless you and Alphred concoct some means to let them talk to me so that I can gain their trust.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I figured you would at least have done something to my work schedule to ensure I had time to talk with the Europans. The last few weeks you’ve just had me on permanent guard duty.”
“You could have made it your business to interact with the colonists during your off-duty hours.” Icarus was clutching at straws as his own ineptitude was brought under the spot light.
“Yes, but with the colonists now confined to quarters except for staggered meal times in the mess, what chances do I have to talk with them then? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but people aren’t predisposed to meal time conversation when they have several people with swords watching their every move.”
Icarus scowled. “Admiral Gayle promised you would be the voice of compassion for the Europans; don’t leave it to me pick up the slack for you. I’m the bad cop in this little play, and you’re the good cop. And if you don’t start playing your role in this soon, I am going to let Admiral Gayle know that you are personally trying to sabotage this mission.”
“As if you could convince the Admiral and Chiefs of Staff of that,” Peter challenged. He was sorely tempted to play the commander’s game and let him file a report to the Admiral. All that stopped him was the knowledge that the Europans really were in need of a voice to stand up for them. “Look, if you want a starting point, have that nut from your cohort put in a cell for a few days and make a big deal out of it.”
“What, are you out of your mind? You can’t expect me to lock one of our own men in a cell.” Icarus’ face was turning beet red, and Peter guessed the Commander thought he was being toyed with.
“I’m being perfectly serious. The guy struck a colonist and used unnecessary force when none was required.”
“The man thought someone had sabotaged the water
treatment plant.” Icarus didn’t seem to get it at all, but Peter was determined to spell it out for him.
“Yeah, he thought the plant had been sabotaged, and it turned out it wasn’t. Innocent until proven guilty, Commander.” Peter used the title with the utmost contempt. “Have your man thrown in a cell. Show the Europans that we don’t tolerate failure or mistakes in our own ranks. Maybe then they’ll be more understanding when we punish their transgressions.”
Icarus was clearly still unhappy. His nostrils flared, and his eyes no longer seemed to be able to look at Peter properly. It was as if looking at him might threaten to bring the Commander into a murderous rage. “The Admiral said to run all your ideas by him. If you’re willing to put your name to this insanity, I will run it by him.”
“Please do,” Peter said, crossing his arms as he tried to convey his total confidence.
Icarus shot him a contemptuous glance, then strode purposefully back into the control room. Peter followed behind at a more casual gait. He noticed the quizzical look Minerva gave him and just shrugged his shoulders at her. He took his position around the conference table once more, and the meeting resumed. The entire time, Peter wore a smug smile on his face, almost relishing the irked glances he received from the Commander of Neptune cohort. If he had to play the good cop for the Europans, it might prove fun if it gave him more chances to rattle Icarus’ cage.
Two days later, a message came out over the station's communication network for all to hear. It was rare for Icarus to address the entire station at once, and Peter felt a thrill rush through him at the prospect of what was to come.
“May I have your attention, please. This is Commander Icarus of Neptune cohort, Unity. Following calls from Officer Peter Gabell regarding the most recent incident in the water treatment plant, it has been concluded that Crewman Dean of Neptune cohort was in direct violation of protocols. Concordantly, the officer has been placed under immediate arrest and will face a punitive trial by a jury of Unity Chiefs as soon as can be arranged. In the meantime, and in light of his perceptive assessment of the situation, Officer Gabell is hereby made liaison officer to the colony. Anyone with complaints, concerns or grievances are encouraged to see Mr. Gabell by appointment during your off-duty hours. That is all.”
Peter was in the mess hall eating a meal when the news broke. This was certainly not a coincidence ,and he immediately felt the collective attention of the room fall onto him. There were a few hushed whispers from the colonists who were eating at another table. Peter couldn’t hear their words, but from the way they looked back to him, it was obvious that he was the focal point of their discussion. For a while, it looked like the Europans were happy just to talk about him in their little corner. However, after a few minutes had passed, a young man Peter recognized came over.
“Hey, it’s Christian, right?” Peter remembered the man at once. He had managed to accidentally insult him on their first meeting by paying undue attention to his scar.
“Yeah, that’s right.” The man’s eyes drifted nervously to the guards on duty, but, eventually, he found his attention focusing on Peter fully. “Um, congratulations on your new position. I want you to know that I’m fully supportive of it.” He extended a hand and Peter shook it, noticing how sweaty the man’s palms were. “I think it’s really great what you’ve done for us until now.”
“It’s nothing, really,” Peter said gently.
“No, it is something.” The awkwardness in the man’s voice was suddenly gone, replaced by a more serious tone. “I mean you’ve stood up for our colony several times, even saved the lives of those guys who attacked you. I mean, I know it didn’t do them any good in the end... But it was a kindness, and people should recognize it.”
“Okay, well thank you for that.” Peter found it hard to sound truly sincere. Deep down he knew he hadn’t spared those people for the sake of Europa’s people. He had done it simply to save his own conscience. He still struggled with the memory of killing that terrorist on Mars. And that man had truly deserved to die if ever any man truly deserved death. If he struggled to accept killing him, there was no way he was going to kill two men while they sat immobile and defenseless before him.
“So, I know your new position has only just been announced, but could I book a slot with you now? I have some ideas you might really want to hear about how to improve things around here.” The man wore an excited smile, clearly keen to have his opinion heard by someone willing to listen.
Peter could only scratch his hair and shrug his shoulders. This new role had come as much as a surprise to him as it had to the others in the colony. How was he supposed to know the correct channels for making an appointment with him? “I can make a provisional appointment, I guess. But don’t hold me to it as we’re still working out the finer details. He decided it would be best to show some initiative and not give away the fact that his new position as a glorified counselor had been thrown at him completely out of the blue.
As soon as Christian had finished talking and moved away, another colonist chanced going over. Within moments a pattern developed as people gravitated toward Peter, complimenting him on his fine work and upstanding character, while pressing him for a so called ‘appointment.’ After the first five or so people had seen him, he gave up trying to remember the names of people and just nodded to each new person who talked to him, promising them that they would have a chance to speak to him as soon as his new position was finalized. By the looks of things, he already had enough people wanting to see him to necessitate his being chained to a desk for the remainder of his time on the moon base.
By the time Peter was able to leave the mess hall and consider turning in for his sleep period, he was beginning to feel pretty buoyant about his new situation. Even if it was unasked for and came as something of a surprise, he couldn’t deny it was uplifting to finally be receiving some praise and positive comments from the Europans he had tried so hard to integrate with. As he stepped onto the corridor and spied Commander Icarus, the good feeling suddenly died off. The commander’s affable smile was worrisome. If anything, Peter had expected the leader of Neptune cohort to be thoroughly despondent.
“So, what are we grinning about?” Peter didn’t bother to tip toe around the Commander. “Are you smiling because you get to chain me to a desk in some dank corner of the station and have me listen to all the colonist’s complaints?” It was a stab in the dark, but it was the only reason Peter could think of to explain the good mood the Commander appeared to be in.
Icarus shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t have a care in the world. “I will admit, it is a job I’d rather leave to you than take on myself. I know you’ll probably enjoy it though.” He sniffed and stretched languidly before continuing. “No, I was just very interested to see the reactions of our people when they heard we were locking up crewman Dean on your orders. Tharsis, you should have seen the look on her face. She looked ready to grab a spear and hunt you down.”
Peter felt a cold chill creep down his spine. In the heat of the moment, he had not considered how the Unity crew would take to the news. The sudden thought that this would be seen as a betrayal sent a wave of nausea running through his stomach.
“Do you remember last year, on the way to Mars?” The Commander’s words were no dripping with latent malignity. “Someone from the Unity attacked you in the training rooms. I bet more than a few people are wishing those guys who tried to do you in had succeeded.”
Peter didn’t bother to engage the Commander further. The words had cut him deeply, and all Peter could do was retreat and try to blot them out from his mind. It was a cowardly move, and one he felt sure Icarus would mock him for down the line. Even so, in that moment, he didn’t care what others made of it. He needed space.
Peter did not return to his bunk. The thought that his fellow crewmates might suddenly have turned against him brought up a deep churning in his stomach. It actually made him feel physically ill and all he could think to do was wander the corr
idors of the station until he found a quiet corner in which to sequester himself. It was pathetic. He felt pathetic, and anyone who saw him squatting down in the corner of a storage cabinet would have thought him pathetic, but he was beyond caring about that.
A single harsh light bore down on him and Peter was able to study himself easily under the harsh glare of that bulb. His attention was set principally on his hands. He held them out in front of his face, turning them over multiple times as he studied them front and back. He was just like a baby exploring his limbs for the first time. He pressed his two hands together like a monk at prayer, his entire body shuddering as he took in the difference in quality between them. Three of the fingers on his right hand weren’t right. He knew it even without looking, but he needed to take in again, to remind himself of it.
Compared to his left hand, the first three fingers of his right hand were a noticeably shorter by a good few centimeters. Dr. Scott had been forced to cut down some of the bones in those fingers after the assault in the training room. Other signs accompanied him, signposts of that awful day. There were rings of scarred flesh around those three digits. They looked freakish, and Peter never liked to look too long at them. But his other senses reminded him of the injury too. Ever since that attack, his hand had been far more sensitive to changes in temperature, often giving off a painful twinge in colder climates. Here on ice covered Europa, that was a daily occurrence, and until now, he had only been successful in ignoring it because he had kept his mind engaged on other things.
Invariably, Peter’s hands started to gravitate gropingly to his face. He began to massage the cheeks on both sides, pulling and tugging on them, running his fingers over their surface. One was perfectly smooth; the other was like a miniaturized rendition of the Grand Canyon. He felt the deep-set gashes that lined his cheeks, each one carved out by jagged rocks that shot through the grinders in the diamond mines back on Earth. It felt like his entire body was becoming a tapestry of violence. He did not understand the displeasure and anger he seemed to cause in others. He had never tried to cause so much anger in others. He had never wanted anyone to hate him, not even those who had enslaved him. He had tried, tried so hard throughout his life to be someone people could like. As impossible as it was he wanted desperately for everyone to like and accept him, not just a few. It was this desire that drove him to try and integrate with the Europans; it was that desire that had made him continue on with the Unity project training program on Earth despite being universally despised by his peers.