Fires of Prometheus

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Sergeant Spartan, terrorist, murderer and soldier of the fascist Confederacy. Have you made your decision?” A blurred shape of a man stood in front of him. Spartan struggled to remember, just a mixture of lights and faces with pain and violence thrown in. He needed a more time to collect his thoughts. As he desperately tried to think the voice continued.

  “For your own safety we have moved you from Kerberos. Where you go from here is up to you. We already know you work for the Confederate Marine Corps. Those days are over now, Spartan. The days of the Confederacy are numbered, soon the dawn of a new, civilised and equal age will spread through Proxima.”

  At the mention of Proxima some of Spartan’s memories flooded back. The uprising and insurgency orchestrated by the Zealots, the militant wing of the Church of Echidna and the collaboration of the Marine Guards unit on Kerberos. Finally, he remembered finding the murdered President and his cabinet at Yama City. He swallowed several times, trying desperately to clear his throat.

  “I...I remember...”

  “You remember? Good, then you can tell us. What does Admiral Jarvis plan to do about the secession of the colonies on Kerberos, Prime, Orthrus and Agora?”

  “I’ll tell you what she told me...” He turned to look at the changing shape of the man facing him.

  “Good, I thought you might change your mind. So, tell me, what does she plan to do?”

  Spartan simply stared at him, saying nothing.

  “Well, what does she have to say to us?” he asked again, this time more firmly.

  “Fuck you!” Spartan shouted and then spat on the floor. The man took a step forward, presumably to strike Spartan but somebody stopped him before he could get close enough. Another two men appeared, one wearing some kind of wide headgear approached him as the rest spoke quietly to each other.

  “The Confederacy has gone, Spartan. The only holdouts in this entire sector are Avagana and a handful of the smaller colonies through the Rim, Prometheus and the gas giants. With the habitable planets now free how long do you think it will be before the rest join us?”

  “Join you? Who the fuck is you?” laughed Spartan. “You’re a bunch of old religious nobodies that want to line your own pockets. You’ll replace the Confederacy with your own ideology!”

  The small group of men had stopped talking and all moved around Spartan. The tallest spoke first.

  “The Church of Echidna offers a new union for those who seek the redistribution of power and wealth to the people. Before this year is out every colony in Proxima will join our family, that shouldn’t concern you though. For your crimes our leaders have decreed you and your friends should suffer.”

  The man with the hat continued.

  “A man with your skills could be of great use to us. This is your last chance to avoid a terrible and just fate. Fight with us or die in the pit fights like the rest of the dogs! Your choice!”

  “Just kill me and get on with it!” Spartan was already trying to work out how he could turn the situation to his advantage. Planning and strategy had never been his strongest points but he was strong and his reactions generally excellent. He was convinced he could at the very least cause a lot of damage if he could get his hands free. As he twisted his arms it was obvious the chains were much too tight for him to wriggle out of. He looked about the room, his eyes now almost fully adjusted to the light. It was a small room and more people were tied up just the same as he was. He recognised the shape of General Rivers in the corner though he wasn’t moving. He was about to turn back to his chains when he spotted a glimpse of movement. It was small, so small that if he hadn’t already been looking at the old General he never would have seen it. The man blinked with just the one eye. Spartan squinted, making sure he had seen correctly, then the General did it again. Spartan nodded gently and then moved his eyes away from him and back to the guards.

  “What about them?” He looked towards the other prisoners.

  “That is none of your business, murderer!” said one of the men.

  Spartan glanced again at the prisoners, looking for signs of people he might know.

  “Come on, did you set them up as well? You bastards!”

  The man started to laugh, it was a low chortle but the self-satisfaction was evident. As he continued Spartan could feel his heart increasing in rhythm, his blood felt like it was going to boil with pent up rage and anger. He pulled hard at the chains and succeeded in doing nothing other than giving his tormentors more to laugh about.

  “You should save your energy, you will need it where you are going. As for the rest of them, well, they’ve all told us what we need to know. They will be meeting with the slavers shortly. Either they work in the mines or fight in the pits. One way or the other they’ll be dead in a few months...” he said and then looked deep into Spartan’s eyes, “...as will you!”

  Spartan thought back to his comrades back in the Fleet, so many of them had been killed or maimed in the fighting. Of all of them though he missed Teresa the most. He’d met her during his training on the Santa Maria that at the time had operated as both a training and transport ship for the Marine Corps. She had been injured in the battle to retake the Titan Station from the insurgents. With all the trouble since then he’d been unable to spend much time with her and after the debacle on Kerberos he was doubtful he’d ever see her again. It was that final thought that pushed him to try something, anything that could get him away from wherever he was.

  “I’ll join...”

  The men stopped talking for a moment, each of them looking down at him. They waited for him to speak again. Spartan coughed, took in a deep breath and continued.

  “If you’re right, what do I have to lose?”

  The tall man leaned in closely again, this time Spartan could see the spittle dripping from his mouth as he leered.

  “If you join us you will have to turn on your precious Confederacy. Can you do that, soldier?”

  “I don’t care about the Confederacy, I want to see Teresa again.”

  “Teresa?” asked the man in the hat.

  “Private Morato, it seems she was his lover on his ship...” He then turned away to say more but Spartan couldn’t hear.

  As the group spoke Spartan looked back into the room to look for anything he could do or grab that might help him. The walls were bare metal and the only objects were the dark plates on the one side of the wall that he assumed must be one-way mirrors. If so this was a cell of some kind, though according to them they had left Kerberos. It must be a prison transport vessel then, he thought to himself. He started shouting.

  “Look, get me out of these and I’ll do whatever you want, I can’t take this any longer!”

  He lifted his arms so that the chains went taut and rattled as they scraped along the floor. The man with the hat said a few more words until the tall man seemed to be in agreement with him. He then returned to Spartan and placed a key into the lock. Leaning forward he grabbed Spartan by the arm and lifted him up. He groaned a little from the pain in his left leg, an injury he didn’t even realise he had. From the corner of his eye he spotted two men in the ceremonial armour of the guard unit that betrayed the President back on Kerberos. He tried his best to hide the contempt he felt towards the traitors.

  “Now, Spartan, if you are to join us we must first...” said the tall man before he realised what was happening.

  With a speed that surprised them all, Spartan delivered a savage uppercut to the man that connected under his chin and knocked him out cold. Moving before the guards could intervene he grabbed the second man and locked his arm, twisting him in front as a human shield.

  “Let him go!” shouted one of the guards as they entered the room, both pointing their carbines at him.

  Spartan looked at their gear, noting that they were using L48 carbines with the small calibre box magazines fitted. They had limited capability and were perfect for military use on ships where penetration was an issue. He felt a pang of anger towards them with their preten
ce of being an elite and loyal part of the Corps, when the only thing they had in common with his compatriots was the equipment. The man squirmed, trying to move away from Spartan but a simple squeeze on his left arm forced the man to keep still, Spartan’s strength being much more than he could cope with. At the end of the room he could make out General Rivers, he looked unconscious but Spartan knew better. In the last few seconds the man had already turned slightly towards him and winked, letting him know he was ready.

  As the guard moved a little closer he reached just a metre from the sitting figure of the General. Spartan gave him a gentle nod and like a coiled up snake he struck. His hands were still bound but his lower body was free. With all the power he could muster the officer smashed his foot into the back of the guard’s knee. With a crack the marine tipped backwards and collapsed to the ground, firing a short burst as he fell. Spartan took the chance and pushed his prisoner forward as he dropped low and ran to the fallen man. The second guard tried to get off a shot but the stumbling man crashed into him, blocking his line of sight for just long enough to allow Spartan to reach him. Though his body ached from the hardship he had endured he found new strength. Sliding along the floor he crashed into the man quickly grabbing his head and twisted his neck, snapping it instantly. He picked up the man’s carbine, flicked the safety off and as he turned aimed it at the guard.

  “Drop it!”

  The rest of the men that had been speaking to Spartan ran from the room leaving just the guard. As they rushed away he could hear their footsteps becoming fainter and fainter. Both had a clear shot available to them though Spartan was acutely aware that he was totally unarmoured whereas the guard wore a full personal defence suit, also known simply as a PDS. It was a complete self-contained body armour package that tightly moulded to the wearer’s body. Armour was provided to all key parts of the body and was proof against small calibres and shrapnel. The suit was also tied into the digital battlespace system used by the Confederate military and this provided up to the minute tactical information, mapping and communications.

  “We have more armed guards on the way. Drop the gun or I’ll put you down!”

  “Fuck you, if I drop the gun you’ll shoot!”

  The two stood in silence carefully looking at each other, waiting for the hint of a movement to indicate that one of them was about to shoot. On the ground the General was trying to wriggle free but his chains were not going to break, no matter how hard he tried. Spartan needed to do something fast before the rest of the guards turned up. He could go for speed but there was a good chance he would be shot even if he fired first. The carbines could spit out small calibre rounds in massive numbers, then how could he help General Rivers? If he were dead he’d never see Teresa again. With that final thought he made his decision and turned the muzzle away from the guard.

  “Okay, okay...I’m putting it down, don’t shoot!”

  The guard was taking no chances and tensed slightly, expecting something bad to happen. He pulled slowly on the trigger, ready if the moment required it. Spartan knelt down lowering himself slowly to the ground. Pushing his hands out he placed the carbine on the floor and then stood up, pushing his hands out in front in a gesture of compliance. The man moved forward.

  “Stay there!”

  Spartan’s hands were head height but as the man approached he lowered his hands very slowly until they were at his waist. As if in surrender, he maintained the stance with his hands pushed out and the palms facing the man. For a moment it looked like the guard was going to wait, but gaining the upper hand seemed to go to the man’s head and slowly but surely he moved closer to Spartan.

  “Hands! On your head...Now!”

  The guard lifted his carbine up higher on his shoulder, aiming a little lower into the middle of Spartan’s chest.

  “Come on…… two more steps!” whispered Spartan to himself.

  As soon as he was near enough Spartan pushed his body out to the left and snapped forward. His right hand grabbed the side of the carbine and pushed it away a few centimetres. Almost as soon as his hand hit the metal a blast of flame roared from the muzzle and multiple rounds flew out to the reinforced metal bulkhead. Stepping towards the startled guard, Spartan smashed his left hand up in a hammer grip underneath the carbine. It looked almost like a showpiece move as the carbine flipped up and around so that the muzzle now faced the guard. Spartan released his grip and took hold of the weapon, their roles now reversed he made no attempt to stall for time and simply pulled the trigger. The first few rounds took chunks out of the man’s chest armour so he held down the trigger. As the rounds hammered home they tore a hole in the plating. The guard was blasted backwards by the weight of fire before slumping down to the ground.

  The General called out from the far end of the room.

  Spartan didn’t wait and he moved directly to him.

  “Are you hurt, Sir?”

  “No, just get me out of these things, we need to move!” Fire had already returned to the eyes of the veteran commander.

  Spartan pulled his chains taut and told him to get back.

  Pointing the weapon at point blank range it only took two rounds to shred the chains and to free the General. As soon as they fell away he moved forward and started to strip ammunition from the dead guard. Spartan took two more clips from the second fallen man and checked for anything else that might be of use. As he rummaged through the suit he was dismayed to find the man carried nothing other than his personal weapon and a side arm. Thrusting the pistol into his belt he turned back to the prisoners, many of whom were now watching them though none said anything. Spartan knelt down to the first, a haggard looking man with a bruised face.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I...uh...no idea. I was working in the steel mills when these creatures attacked us. I’ve never seen them before, they killed some of our people before men in armour arrived and took us prisoner. We’ve been here for weeks now...might be longer, I can’t tell you anymore.”

  As Spartan listened to the man he tapped him on the shoulder.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, are you able to fight?”

  The man, weakened both physically and mentally, tried to move but lacked the willpower to push himself.

  “Stay there, we’ll do what we can.” Spartan stood up and looked about the room.

  “Spartan, we need to go!” General Rivers said impatiently.

  Spartan was tempted to leave but a nagging doubt in his mind told him to check. He moved along the rest of the prisoners, looking for anyone who might be able to help. As he passed the weak wretches he noticed a number of them watching him, some with anger in their eyes. Halfway a long he spotted a familiar face.

  “Marcus?” The man said nothing so he knelt down and shook him, he was covered by a blanket. Spartan pulled it back it reveal he was covered bruises and cuts.

  “Bastards!”

  He stood up and called out.

  “We’re going to fight our way out of this place. If anybody wants to join us lift your hands. If you stay here all I can promise you is a slow death at the hands of these animals. Who will fight with us?”

  A few hands went up, yet half of the prisoners failed to respond. Some were simply too weak, the rest were probably scared or had no idea what was going on. It didn’t really matter. Right now he only needed people who were of use. Spartan moved along the line, destroying the chains with the carbine. When his job was done he looked back to see five haggard but motivated men stood waiting to hear the plan. General Rivers was near the half open door and looking down the dark corridor, waiting for the inevitable arrival of more guards.

  “How many weapons have you got?”

  The General turned back and waved his carbine at Spartan who then turned to the five men.

  “Check the guards, see if you can find anything else.”

  The men moved like a pack of wolves and stripped any equipment they could find from the two bodies. It didn’t take long though for them
to show just one knife and a pistol. Spartan remembered he had an extra pistol in his belt, taken from the first guard. He reached down and pulled it out.

  “Here, take this one.”

  A short man, probably in thirties but actually looking much older, reached out and took the weapon. As it was placed in his hands he pulled out the magazine, checked the rounds, replaced it and cocked the weapon.

  “You’ve done this before?”

  “Army Special Ops, back in the day,” he replied before moving over to the General to watch the door.

  Spartan was relieved that they had at least one other person with combat training. He looked down at the still unconscious figure of Marcus. His gut told him to get moving but the thought of leaving a comrade as loyal as Marcus pulled at him.

  The General calling for them to leave snapped Spartan out of his thoughts.

  He paused just for a second. It was simple, if they were victorious he would come back, if not, well, it wouldn’t matter then would it?

  He checked the magazine on his own carbine and drew back the bolt, pulling another round into the chamber. The bullets looked odd, as they were a self-contained caseless bullet and propellant. Perfect for use in all atmospheres and temperatures producing no wasted materials when used. Spartan moved forward and joined the small group assembling near the door.

  “Have any of you seen the rest of the ship? Any information we can use?” the General asked.

  The man Spartan had spoken to previously raised his hand.

  “I’ve been down the corridor. They took me there for tests a few days ago. About thirty metres down on your right, the soldiers came from a room a bit further along. Other than that I don’t know.”

  “Right, Spartan, I suggest we get ourselves some more weapons. We could try for the soldiers’ room, probably a barracks of some kind. Either that or we try for blades in the room where they did the tests.”

  “I say we hit the barracks room and fast. A few knives won’t help once they get here and they’ve been gone for several minutes. There could be more on the way already, Sir.”