by A P Heath
Sergeant Imtel Johs knew that was not the case. The door behind him opened inwards, allowing Captain Lanad to walk slowly and carefully into the room.
They were still healing, all of them and the aftermath of the captain’s own injuries had left him walking like a frail elderly man. It wouldn’t last he knew; the damage had been repaired, the body just needed time. He looked down again.
“You just need a little more time.” He said under his breath.
“How is the captain coming along?” Lanad asked as he made his way across the small room. It was bright with white walls and the same distinct lack of variation in hue as the rest of the infirmary wing.
The walls were blank, free of adornments and the only furniture within them was the raised table at the centre, on which Aitkin Cassini lay. At either end, above his head and feet were the mechanisms that created the stasis field. It shimmered in the air above his resting form.
Johs knew roughly what it was doing for him, but didn’t have the first idea of how the feat was actually managed.
“He just looks like he’s just sleeping, lazy bastard.” Johs replied.
“May I remind you that you are talking about a senior officer, to another senior officer.” Lanad chided, his tone conveying the levity of his words.
“Sorry sir, old habit.” Johs turned his head and flashed a smile.
“Thinking about it, he’s been my superior officer for years now,” He curled his lip thoughtfully, “Never does seem to have stopped me though.”
Lanad smiled too, leaning over Aitkin with a slight grimace from the pain in his chest and shoulders. He peered at the unconscious captain. For a moment the room was silent.
Lanad leaned closer, trying to spot the almost imperceptible rise and fall of Aitkin’s chest. An alarm sounded, a furious beeping that seemed too loud in the close and quiet confines of the rehab-chamber.
Lanad jumped back in shock and Johs laughed hard and loud.
“It did that to me yesterday.” He said through his grin.
“It really doesn’t like someone else sticking their hand in the field.”
Lanad was holding his chest, rubbing at it with his hand where the jolting of his movement had made the pain flare again.
“Scared me half to death!” He complained, “I thought I’d broken the bloody thing.”
Johs chuckled at the First Captain’s annoyance, knowing he
would have looked very similar to anyone who had been watching his reaction, the previous day.
“Don’t panic Captain,” He said in his most reassuring tones, “It’s just a warning that you’re interrupting the field.”
“I’m glad to see you’re so calm about it.” Lanad replied. Johs laughed again, a short derisive bark.
“Yesterday was a different story,” He said. “I nearly pulled the nearest medi-techs arm off, dragging him in here to make sure I hadn’t broken it!”
Lanad looked a little uncomfortable at that. He threw a glance to the bandaging that covered Johs’ left shoulder and the emptiness below.
“Don’t worry yourself Captain,” Johs looked at the stump and then back to Lanad, “I’m hardly gonna get offended by something I’ve said myself, am I?”
He rubbed at his shoulder, “Besides, you can’t think every bloody marine in the Company hasn’t been round to offer their support and drop some terrible joke or pun on me.”
Lanad gave a little snort and a smile turned up the corner of his mouth.
“Been offered a lot of helping hands have you?” He tried.
Johs barked again and slapped his thigh with his remaining hand. “That’s more like it Captain!” He chortled.
His laughs slipped into silence and the two of them stood side by side and watched Aitkin for another moment.
“You’re trying to think of another one, aren’t you sir?” Johs said, still facing forward.
“I’m a Captain Johs, not a bloody comedian.” Lanad replied gruffly. “But yes.”
His face creased in concentration for a moment and then he smiled, “I’ll let you know when I come up with something.”
“Very good sir.”
They both stared down at the silent form of their friend again.
“Captain Aitkin Cassini,” Johs muttered. “Not sure how long it’ll take me to get used to that.”
“I guess about as long as it takes to get used to Lieutenant Imtel Johs.” Lanad replied. “But officially he’s not a Captain
yet, his promotion is not fully confirmed.”
“Yeah,” Johs shook his head slowly, “You might be right there. About the Lieutenant bit, I mean.”
He was silent a moment. “Lieutenant Johs…” He said to himself softly, letting his eyes unfocus and stare past Aitkin.
“What does he have to do for it to be confirmed?”
“Apply for the next step or get yourself a field commission Lieutenant,” Lanad replied, “And you’ll find out.”
There was a pause.
“Second Captain and First Lieutenant,” He mused, “If I’d told you that would be the case a few days ago would you have believed me?”
“If you’d told me that a few days ago sir, I’d have told you to keep your promotion and nuke that fucking station from space.”
The lightness had fallen from Johs’ tone, his face still staring at nothing. Lanad turned to face him, placed a hand on his shoulder to pull him around. Johs let himself be moved.
“She will be remembered with honour.” Lanad said quietly, choosing to overlook the Lieutenant’s profanity. This was not the time for petty rebukes.
Johs raised his eyes to meet those of the First Captain. He knew they would be reddening. He hadn’t meant to say it. The thought of his sister and all the others they’d lost on that mission was something he didn’t want to face. He pushed them down when they rose in his mind, but they were persistent, bubbling to the surface without warning, making him speak without thinking.
He nodded, “Excuse me sir.” He said.
“Not necessary Lieutenant,” Lanad replied, “At least not here.” He gestured to the rehab-chamber.
“On parade or about your marines you might find you receive a very different response, but not here.” The last word was quiet, almost reverent of the healing space. Johs let out a long breath.
“Why did we go there sir?” He said, an edge of pleading in his voice. Lanad raised his hands to ward off the questions.
“I know,” Johs continued, “I know I shouldn’t ask, but it just doesn’t make any sense!” He could feel the lump forming in his throat, threatening to choke off his words.
“A supply station; supply station sir. With a team of scientists aboard? That doesn’t make sense!”
“Lieutenant…” Lanad warned.
“And enemies that don’t die when they’re shot or stabbed, what the fuck is that about?” Johs knew his rage and frustration were driving his words, but he was too caught up in them to stop. It had been waiting to burst from him and now he’d voiced his thoughts he found each word he said stoked the fires of his anger.
“And so strong! I put my knife in to the hilt, to the hilt sir!” He waved his right hand to emphasize.
“Johs…” Lanad’s tone had darkened.
“And the fucker pulled my fucking arm off like I was just some child’s doll! Like I was a toy, a fucking toy, sir!”
He could feel the wetness of spittle on his lips, the thunder of his blood pumping in his ears. His breathing was heavy, his eyes wide and staring in anger into those of his Captain.
“Lieutenant Johs!” Lanad demanded his silence.
The big lieutenant blinked his eyes a few times. His face fell as he regained his control and realised how perilous his behaviour had been.
“I apologise sir.” He said, dropping his eyes.
His hand was shaking from the adrenaline that had coursed through him a moment before.
Captain Lanad took a deep breath.
“This is a trying tim
e for all of us Lieutenant,” He started. “We all have losses to mourn and duties to perform.” Johs continued to stare at the floor.
“I need to know my First Lieutenant is up to the task.” Lanad continued. “If you need more time I can understand…”
“No sir.” Johs replied quickly.
He looked up into his Captain’s eyes, seeing the steely composure he knew he lacked so badly.
“I am ready for duty sir,” He shrugged his shoulders, inclining
his head to indicate his missing arm, “As much of me as there is left anyway.”
For Aitkin he would have added a wry smile. For Captain Lanad he kept his face straight.
“Very well Lieutenant, then I will leave you and the Captain both to your rest.” Lanad said, his face still stern.
He looked down at Aitkin, “His trials aren’t finished yet.” He said darkly.
Lanad walked to the door, placed his hand on the handle and stopped. Johs watched him, wondering what thoughts the Captain was shaping.
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Lanad said, still facing the closed door. “But our job is not to understand our orders Lieutenant.”
“Our job is to follow them.” Johs finished for him. Lanad nodded his head, pulled open the door and walked out of the room. The door pulled itself closed behind him, leaving Johs alone in the silence again.
“How the hell am I gonna get along with that flinty bastard?” He muttered to himself. Johs lifted his hand to his face, rubbing at his right eye and cheek. He could feel the phantom of his missing limb trying to mirror the gesture on his left.
He would not remain maimed this way for long.
He’d already been fitted for the prosthetic, the measuring a cold and strange affair carried out by a medi-tech artificer with absolutely no sense of humour.
He leaned down closer to Aitkin’s unconscious form, “They’re giving me a robot arm y’know.”
He waggled his eyebrows up and down, “Let’s see one of those dead-eyed bastards try and pull that off.” Aitkin made no reply.
Johs turned his back, leaning against the table. He made to cross his arms and muttered a curse at himself for forgetting.
“Might as well be talking to a bloody corpse.” He muttered in disgust at his friend’s stubborn refusal to be instantly better and wake up.
Johs stretched out his back, raising his chest and sighing with satisfaction as his back clicked.
The alarm of the stasis field sounded again as he strayed into it. Johs leapt forward in surprise, taking three hurried steps away from the table.
He turned, an inane grin splitting his features at the realisation of his own foolishness. He shook his fist at the shimmering field.
“You can fuck off as well.” He told the machine.
FORTY-FIVE
The small room was cramped with three additional bodies filling it. Not small bodies either, Martius thought. Each one of the men was at least a head taller than him, their bodies broad under their long, dark coats.
He had panicked when the door was flung open. He scrambled backwards, fearing violence or robbery or both. The figures that had pushed their way in were every bit as menacing as he’d expected, but as it turned out, an awful lot cleaner.
They were Earone house security; the thugs Gandrid hired to walk the estate and keep the family home and its members safe.
His fear had subsided marginally when he realised who they were. Not entirely though. Their being here meant only one thing; his mother had sent them to drag him back to Prometheus.
Disappointment vied with anger in his mind. They were his guards too, surely? So why were they so stolidly refusing to obey his orders and leave him be?
“I am your Lord!” He barked at them. “You will obey my orders.”
They didn’t speak or move. All three had a similarity to their look; shaven head, dark lenses over their eyes and small grilles that covered their mouths and noses to filter the dirty Sabaea air.
Each one wore a long coat that covered them from neck to ankle. The collars were pulled high and Martius knew the inflexibility of the material was due to the combat mesh wired within it. They were armoured without appearing so.
On the left breast each bore the Earone family crest as a printed emblem.
The white stylised ‘I’ within a black three-sided triangle, both set against a red circle, was well known throughout the city states of Mars. Martius had seen it on the transit car, on bulk carriers here in Sabaea. The red circle was Mars, the triangle denoting the three values of the family; strength, honour, faith, with faith the top most point of the triangle.
Martius knew the emblem dated back to the first Julius Earone and suspected the ideals may have been appropriate in his time. Now those values had been replaced by wealth, power and status. He couldn’t guess which his mother considered the most important of the three. As far as he could tell they were all equal in her eyes.
The ‘I’ was to show them as the first and foremost family of Mars. Martius occasionally wondered whether it would have to be changed if another family became more wealthy or influential. He doubted his mother would ever consider such a thing. Even if it were to happen, he doubted his mother would ever admit to it.
The faces still stared at him blankly from behind their shaded eyes.
Martius wasn’t sure what to do. He’d expected them to tackle him, pin him to the foetid floor and bind his hands. That hadn’t happened. The door had been flung open and these three had simply stepped in and taken up positions inside the room. They were close together, practically touching in the close confines, but they made no move to touch him, spoke no words.
Martius was very aware of the nakedness of his lower body. He leaned forward, not taking his eyes from the silent figures and snatched up his overalls. They’d been left behind in his desperate backwards scramble when they came in. Now he pulled them over his legs and up to his waist again. He glared at the security guards while he clipped the fastenings at each shoulder.
“Will any one of you irksome thugs speak to me?”
He tried to affect his most imperious tone, copying the way he’d always heard his mother speak to the house staff. No one answered him.
“Very well then,” He said getting up with as much dignity as his surroundings would allow him.
“If you will not speak then I will simply act as if you are not here.” He lifted his head, pointing his nose high and walked across the room as if to leave.
The confines of the space were such that there was no way out
of the room without at least one of the men moving. The way was blocked and Martius realised they’d have to complete a fairly complicated exchange of spaces to allow his access to the hallway outside. The room, the door, they were only built for a single body to traverse and not a big body at that.
Martius stepped towards the guards with as much confidence as he could muster. They were his security too, they wouldn’t bar the path their lord chose to take surely.
After three steps Martius found himself pressed against the body of the man blocking the majority of the door. He hadn’t moved.
Martius took a step back and gave him an angry look.
“You will stand aside for your lord or I shall have you whipped!” He demanded.
Still no movement, no reply.
Martius could feel his anger rising. He was trapped in this disgusting little hole. He hadn’t been attacked, he could see they wouldn’t dare lay hands on him, but they refused to move aside and allow him to leave.
He paced the few short steps left to him, then rounded on the nearest guard, pushing his face close to the man’s chin. He glared hard, his mouth pulled tight. Behind the shade he could see the guard’s eyes. They stared straight ahead as is he wasn’t even there. Martius was infuriated.
How dare they treat me this way!
He saw the miner’s jacket lying on the floor and stooped to retrieve it, swinging it over his shoulders and sliding his arms thr
ough its sleeves.
He was going to do something. He hadn’t entirely decided on what it was yet, but it was definitely something.
Martius rounded on the men again.
“What are you waiting for?” He screamed into their faces.
At this, the man covering the door tilted his head slightly to the left, as if listening to something Martius couldn’t hear.
After a moment he nodded and stepped forward. Martius saw his opportunity and lunged towards the gap the man’s movement had made.
An arm swung across his chest, wrapping him as he tried to push past it and suddenly the man was behind him. Martius could feel the tightness of the grip that now embraced him, squeezing his chest. His left arm was still free. He tried to throw his elbow back into the gut of the guard, but his wrist was taken in another strong grip and his arm bent to thrust his fist up into the centre of his back.
Martius shouted in pain and impotent anger.
“You will not lay hands on me!” He screeched as the force on his arm increased and the pain shot through him. “Arrgh!”
“We have him.” The man said. Martius tried to turn, but the pain held him fast. There was another pause before the guard continued.
“Understood.” Was all he said.
He moved his hand from Martius’ chest, using it to pull his right arm behind his back and Martius let out a breath of relief as the pressure on his left arm subsided and the pain with it.
There was a high pitched beep followed by a click and Martius felt the cold of the binding that snapped around his wrists, holding them in place.
They were going to take him back. They were going to drag him all the way back to Prometheus and the estate and his mother.
The two men not holding onto him filed their way out of the small room and started down the corridor to the short stairs at its end. Martius tried to stand firm as his captor nudged his shoulder, urging him to move. He placed his feet and set his features in what he thought was angry defiance. Another shove unbalanced him and he would have pitched forward onto his face, had his wrists not been held.
“Fine!” He spat the word. “I’m going.” His voice was petulant, but he didn’t care. If they were going to ferry him home like some wayward child then he would be the most irritating charge they would ever have the displeasure to transport.