Halfway to Deep Space
A science fiction short story
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“A ship just docked unannounced, Rion. Alpha class, designation Tartarus.”
Station Chief Rion Robarts looked up from the datapad. He was tall, with a mellow air about him reinforced by the half-lidded expression he wore that made him look perennially bored, an effect which was emphasized by his drab gray Supply Corp uniform.
“Tartarus? Hmm.” Rion tapped the pad. “They’re not on the schedule, but who knows what’s going on with Mars these days. No one ever tells me, that’s for sure.”
The messenger, Celvin, one of the dozen mechanics and longshoremen on Proxima Station, grimaced. He was stout with short-cropped hair and a face like a brick, or like it’d been shaped by a brick.
“Alright, Celvin. Standard procedure, I guess, and notify them that they have permission to dock. I don’t know who this guy thinks he is docking without asking. I mean it’s a formality but that’s kind of all we have out here in the wide open suck.”
Celvin smirked. “Should I demand their paperwork?”
Rion waved a hand. “No, no. Don’t want to piss him off before he’s even set foot on our humble rock. No need to antagonize. Just direct the captain over here and I’ll have a little chat with him.”
Celvin left and a smartly dressed Navy captain entered a few minutes later.
He was about forty, of average height with slightly graying hair and a definite authoritarian air emphasized by his sharp pointed nose, dark uniform, and crisp military gait.
“I’m Captain Garrett Nieman of the Tartarus. Are you the station chief?”
“That’s right,” Rion said, getting up from his desk and walking over. He sized up Captain Nieman. Shorter than him but a real proper space captain, and Rion supposed that counted for something, not that he was about to start groveling and scraping when this jumped-up spacer started ordering him around.
“I’ll need the lot,” Nieman said, nodding toward the door at the back of the room that led to the warehouse. “Everything you’ve got.”
Rion had heard some wild requests in his day but this by far took the cake and smashed it into pieces so small even the birds couldn’t find them.
“Everything?”
“Yes, everything.”
“You can’t have everything, unfortunately.” He added the ‘unfortunately’ to be polite but Rion wasn’t liking where this was going.
Captain Nieman gave him a hard look. “This is unacceptable, Station Chief…”
“Robarts. Rion Robarts.”
“Unacceptable, Robarts.”
“Sir, even if I wanted to give you everything I have, I can’t. It’s against regulations. I don’t make the regulations. I generally have a hard time enforcing the regulations if I’m being honest. They typically make it hard for me to do my job but this is one I can’t break or Mars will come down on me like your Alpha out there sitting on my head. A lot of the stuff back there is spoken for, as in, already assigned to other ships. You’re not the only ship out here. All I can do is attempt to provide for your ship’s most urgent needs as quickly as I can with the men that I have at my disposal.”
Station Chief Robarts folded his arms in what he hoped was a not-too threatening pose. He didn’t care for confrontation but had no problem standing up to Navy bullies like this one. As far as he was concerned, there were two tacts Captain Nieman could have taken and he chose the wrong one, the one tightly-wound authoritarian types like him always took when they were questioned by anyone and especially when they were being stonewalled by supply clerks.
“Mr. Robarts, you do understand the importance of our mission, correct? The Tartarus has to be at the 61 Cygni system in five days. I think you’re aware that the Pharrian fleet presents a distinct threat to that system and it’s essential that we get there as soon as possible to reinforce our undermanned squadron there, a squadron which will need supplies, which is why I’m requisitioning yours. I particularly need a new calcinator for the Tartarus.”
“I don’t know your mission but I am somewhat aware of the situation at 61 Cygni, Captain. However, I don’t think you appreciate the position I’m in,” Rion said. “I’m stuck on a tiny rock with a dozen bored guys with nothing to do. I have to spend my own money on equipment and supplies, the equipment and supplies you want to take, all in the hopes that back on Mars the pencil pushers will send a wire to reimburse me sometime next year. All this stuff here,” he gestured to the piles of machinery, cables, food synthesizers, bio-gel canisters, charge packs filling the warehouse, “this is all mine until I get paid. So if you need anything, it’s not the government back on Mars you need to deal with, it’s me.”
“Unacceptable,” Captain Nieman repeated. “I need a new calcinator, five tons of bio gel, ten grams of hydronium…it’s all here.” He handed Rion the datapad. “What’s more…”
As Captain Nieman droned on, Rion pretended to study the datapad and instead gazed out the window, one of the few on the asteroid base, and a luxury that was clearly the product of corruption and bribes between the contractors and the original commanding officer now long gone.
The craggy surface dropped off steeply from the outcropping on which the base sat and ran for several thousand yards pockmarked, gray, dull, lifeless before the surface disappeared around the curve of the asteroid’s horizon. But above and beyond the rock was the constant night sky dimmed not a bit by the nearby red dwarf, Proxima Centauri. No matter how many hours he spent behind his desk, no matter all the years in space at one base or another, he loved the sight of that luminous universe and its endless possibilities and it was times like these, when he was being chewed out by an arrogant man harboring delusions of grandeur that he appreciated it most.
“Are you even listening, Robarts?”
“Of course I’m listening, Captain. However, this will take time. I can’t give you everything, as I already said. It will take even longer if you need my guys to install anything. Your engineer can handle it? Alright, then. Hydronium needs to be transported very carefully so that will add extra time. I’m sounding like a broken record but it’s just a matter of time and getting everything moved.”
“I’ll get my men to help. It shouldn’t take long.” Captain Nieman made to leave.
“Unfortunately, that’s also against regulation. We use specialized equipment, particularly for things like hydronium. It requires special training. No untrained personnel may use the transport equipment, which likely applies to your entire crew. Plus, I have a mandate as Station Chief that, like you and your ship, I am responsible for myself, my crew, my base. I can’t have your guys moving government property around, dropping ordinance, banging hydronium into walls because around here it’s all on me if anything goes wrong. This your first time in deep space, Captain? If I may ask, of course.”
“I find your insinuation rather insulting.”
“No hard feelings, Captain. Just wondering why we seem to be at a bit of an impasse here.”
“There’s no impasse. You’ve made your position perfectly clear. Get my equipment on board as soon as possible. I will be on my ship writing a formal complaint to Mars.”
“That’s fine, but make sure your men stay on the ship. We don’t have a lot of room here and neither of us needs any of our guys getting into it just ‘cause they’re bored and have got nothing to do. Sound good?”
Captain Nieman marched out, his black uniform barely moving around him, his boot heels clicking on the floor.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Celvin sauntered into Ops.
“Slow roll him,” Rion said.
“My pleasure, cap.”
Rion had only a few moments to sit down at his desk and start figuring out the logistics of transferring the equipment to the Tartarus when in walked Darak, a small, evil-looking man who made it his life goal to get under Rion’s skin and stay there.
“Robarts, we need to talk.”
“Now’s not a good time, Darak. I’ve got work to do. You’ve got work to do, even if we’re doing it a bit slowly. Unofficially, of course.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing. We’re not working.”
Rion sighed. “Who’s we?”
“Me and most of the other guys. Jannings. Etherton. Ridott. Most of the guys.”
“Darak, I really don’t have time for your nonsense today, or any other day. You enlisted. You knew the deal.”
“Not getting paid wasn’t part of the deal,” Darak said, advancing on Rion .
“That’s not my problem. Contact Mars. File a complaint, though it sounds like you’ll have to get in line behind Captain Nieman. I don’t have money to pay you even if I wanted to. Understood?”
Darak clenched and unclenched his fists.
“What’re you gonna fight me? That’s still not gonna get you paid. I don’t know what to tell you, Darak. Put in for a transfer somewhere closer to Mars. Solar Station 2 or Neptune or Titan. Now, will you get out of my office?”
Rion walked the station, as was his habit most days, tracing the E-shaped station with his feet along the steel plates of the deck as he pictured it in his mind.
From the landing pads out on the immense flat section of the asteroid which had been blasted away to accommodate all but the largest ships, the airlocks led to the main corridor of the base. Off to the left was Wing A which contained the sleeping quarters for the men, two bunks per room and a private room for the station chief. A Wing also housed the canteen, a small gym and recreation facilities, and the tiny medical center. Straight ahead from the airlock was B Wing where could be found all of the enormous and intricate machines necessary for sustaining life on the station, including the reactor, batteries, air scrubbers, the energy reclamators, as well as storage for the station’s food rations that the food dispenser in the canteen converted to something resembling food.
C Wing was the hub of the station’s day-to-day operations. There were workshops and facilities for fabricating and repairing equipment on either side of the hall and in the back was the main door to the warehouse and, off to one side, Ops with Rion’s office, which had its own private entrance to the warehouse.
It wasn’t much but it was his responsibility and, considering the personal stake he had in the equipment, his concern with the station’s safety and well-being went beyond a sense of duty.
Rion stopped at one of the small viewports by the airlock leading toward the landing pad. The Tartarus squatted on the landing pad like a great gray crab, landing gear legs tethered to the ground, its round hulk swooping from the front to a pointed tail at the back where the boosters sat quiet. Whatever armaments it had were hidden from view but he was sure they were there. Captain Nieman was the only person to have left the ship leaving nothing but questions about the rest of the crew. Nieman could easily have been lying about his mission. Rion had no reason to believe so but it wouldn’t have been the first time he wasn’t let in on the plans Mars had for the outer systems.
No use worrying about something that he didn’t know about, couldn’t know about. There was enough to worry him that he already was aware of. He wasn’t sure exactly how Nieman would react to the resupply running slowly. He certainly wouldn’t be happy but that was the risk you ran pissing off the supply chief.
Rion wasn’t normally so vindictive but between the long assignment, the increase of ships coming to the station straining the men and their resources, and the delay of payment from Mars, the addition of Captain Nieman’s attitude had put his hackles up. He wasn’t about to roll over for anyone, certainly not Nieman with his first deep space command.
He turned in at the first workshop in C Wing. Farner, a guy that always reminded him of an old gray flamingo he had seen once in the zoo on Mars, was working on a food dispenser. The blocky square machine six feet tall was open at the back and a jumble of wires and tubes spilled out.
“How’s it going, Farner?”
“Fine, sir,” Farner said without looking up. “Just tuning up this dispenser they requested. Passing it on to another ship out by 61 Cygni?”
“Probably. They likely don’t have replacements out there.”
Farner nodded. “I’d rather be here than out there.”
“Why’s that?”
“Who likes getting shot at? I’ve had enough adventure.”
“I can’t disagree with you there. You need anything?”
“No, sir.”
“Alright, carry on.”
***
The next day Station Chief Robarts was sitting in the tiny base canteen eating what the food dispenser had labeled as Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes but more closely resembled cardboard and damp sawdust.
Celvin sat down across from him with a tray of what was allegedly chicken Kiev. Rion had eaten it the day before and had passed on having that pleasure a second day in a row.
“Darak is selling parts to Nieman.”
Rion looked at Celvin as if for the first time. He held a bite of ‘Salisbury steak’ hovering in front of his mouth. “Say that again?”
“Darak is selling parts to our new friend, the captain.”
“I thought that’s what you said. And he’s got Jannings, Etherton, and probably Ridott in on it with him?”
“Probably. I heard it from Oglesby but he didn’t tell me how he found out. Probably one of the other guys was bragging about his payday. What are we going to do about it?”
“That’s a good question,” Rion said, prodding his fake mashed potatoes with a thoughtful fork. “We could have a real sticky situation on our hands though. Captain Nieman is bound to have at least a couple dozen Marines at his disposal. I wouldn’t want to piss him off too badly. Not that I think they’d shoot us up and leave us for dead but he could march his turbo space Marines through here decked out in their powersuits and make things real uncomfortable for us. Darak, however, although he’s a small fish in a big galaxy, he’s got some friends and together they could be trouble too. But I think I could even get Captain Nieman to help me take care of him and make an example of him for the others. When it comes down to it, guys like Nieman are rule-followers. They really like rules and regulations and standard procedures, even when they break them, they respect the hell out of them. I can’t have one of my guys stealing from me and Nieman might be the key.”
***
“Ah, Captain Nieman. Thank you for coming to see me,” Rion said, crossing the room from his desk. “I tried to stop by on the Tartarus for your convenience but the duty officer, a Lieutenant Merchant, gave me a bit of a hard time so I had to call you over here. I hope that’s alright?”
Captain Nieman looked annoyed. “Yes, fine, of course. I gave orders that we weren’t to be bothered during a number of important procedures we were carrying out. Between maintenance and training, there’s a lot going on. Don’t want anyone getting in the way.”
“Presumably my men can still get on board to load the equipment you need, right? Otherwise that’d be really slowing you down, even more than things are going now.”
Nieman narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean even more?”
“Nothing at all. Just that these things take time and I’m sure you’re in a hurry. However, I think we can help each other out and you’ll be so happy with the outcome that you won’t need to file a complaint after all.”
“I’m listening.”
“I know one or more of my men is selling you parts. I don’t think I need to tell you that that’s against regulations. It’s also theft of my property, since I haven’t been reimbursed by Mars for much of what I have, and theft of government property, since it will be government property once I receive the disbursement. I’d imagine this is the sort of thing that gets eager high-flying captains such as yourself knocked down the roster list a few pegs and stationed, oh, I don’t know, on Titan or Enceladus, instead of out at 61 Cygni.”
Nieman’s face flushed and showed, ever so briefly, the desperate, hunted look of a man on the edge.
“What do you want?”
“Catch Darak in the act and arrest him. I’ll swear that you and I set up the sting to solve a long-standing theft problem on the station and you’ll get the credit for stopping a criminal conspiracy, however small, against the people of Mars. In addition, I’ll throw in some extra parts, not my entire warehouse as you requested, but some helpful extra odds and ends for your expedition and to help the Cygni squadron as a sign of good faith and cooperation. You, in turn, will not file a complaint to Mars, although we both know that nothing would have come of it. The Admiralty would have thought you were being a nitwit and you would have lost points with them so I helped you there too.”
“Anything else?” Nieman said sarcastically.
“Now that you mention it, yeah. Got anything good to drink on board? Our liquor ration ran out months ago and we haven’t gotten a resupply. My men and I would appreciate anything you can give to the cause. It’s all work and close quarters around here so anything to take the edge off helps and, as a fellow officer, I’m sure you can appreciate how important it is to keep your men’s spirits up. That’s about it, I think.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good, I appreciate it. It’s good to see we can work together like this. Beats you coming in here and trying to order me around and whatnot, right?”
Nieman shook his head. “I’ll do what you ask. I’ll arrest Darak. I’ll give you your liquor. But remember, just because you won doesn’t make you special or important. I am captain of the Tartarus, Alpha class fighting ship of the Grand Navy of Mars. While you sit back here on your tiny insignificant rock, I’m putting my life on the line for the people of Mars, which includes you and the other bums on this station. I’m better than you. I’m more important than you. Don’t you forget it.”
Rion smiled. “Usually if you have to tell someone you’re better than them it’s not true. I’d be careful your men don’t toss you out the nearest airlock with an attitude like that. Sir.”
Nieman then did something that surprised Rion. The captain smiled. Then chuckled. Then laughed. “You’re a funny guy, Robarts. I can see why you’re out here on this rock. Pissed off the wrong people, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Ahuh. I thought so.”
“Care for a drink, Captain?”
“A lower ranking officer offering a drink to his superior?”
Rion shrugged. “Why not? We’re a long way from home. There’s a war on. We’re on the same side. Why go on fighting each other? Surely there’s room for a few pleasantries.”
“Surely in your quarters…”
“Of course. I don’t drink in front of the men,” Rion lied.
“Well, why not?”
Rion was sure his living quarters weren’t quite to Captain Nieman’s taste but if that was the case the captain wasn’t letting on. The quarters were small with a camp bed, a gray metal table with two matching chairs, a small computer desk with a terminal, and an armchair.
Unlike everything else in the room, the armchair was upholstered in a coarse green cloth that was shot through with bits of blue and which in places was almost completely worn through. The legs looked as if they had been chewed or scratched by a dog and the cushion showed a clear indentation where Rion habitually sat.
Rion set a bottle and two glasses on the table across from Nieman and poured two generous drams of amber liquid.
“This was the last of the liquor on the base until you came along. Good brandy too. I’ve been saving it.”
“I’m glad I could help replenish your supply,” Nieman said drily, taking a sip. “New France?”
“Not quite the best that Mars makes but it’s very good. You don’t like losing, do you, Nieman?”
“Does anyone?”
“I guess not.”
“How’d you find out about Darak?”
“I know everything that happens on my base. Well, almost everything. It pays to be the type of leader the regular guys respect. They hear things, what the wackos are up to, and they come tell me and I nip it in the bud before things get out of hand. I had a guy try to use the long range transmission array to contact a call-girl service on Neptune. Probably would have cost him a year’s salary to get her out here but a man gets desperate. I caught another guy stealing food rations to feed the gar snake he smuggled onto the base. I let him keep the snake but he had to feed it out of his own rations. It wasn’t going to do anyone any good if I tossed that snake in the incinerator. They gamble incessantly. You wouldn’t believe the games they come up with. One of my guys tried sneaking onto a Cordovan freighter just because the first mate was a woman. That one I only found out after the fact when he showed up with a black eye. Sneaking on board isn’t exactly the way to impress a Cordovan woman.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience.”
Rion smirked. “If only.” He sipped his brandy. “How did you get lucky enough to land an appointment to deep space, sir?”
“Did you hear about the Titan incident?”
Rion shook his head. “Not too much makes its way out here.”
“I was docked at Titan, the only ship bigger than a skiff in the area. There was an escape from the penal colony on the moon. Fifteen men broke out and stole a transport vessel and tried to head off into deep space. I gave chase in the Tartarus. What no one told me was that since the elevated threat of Pharrian incursions, the transport ship had been upgraded and was now equipped with a full complement of laser cannons and wing-mounted rocket launchers. I came up on her and she let fly a barrage that made me pull back out of range. I wasn’t about to get the Tartarus seriously damaged or destroyed over a dozen convicts. However, I couldn’t let them get away either. I put all the power into the forward and underside shield, overflew them while they blazed away and I made a show of trying to destroy them—transport ships aren’t cheap—and when I passed them, doing a close flyby and coming within ten meters, I dropped twenty of my best Marines in full powersuits out the back of the Tartarus. In the confusion and being focused on the Tartarus, they didn’t notice the Marines on their sensors until my men were blasting their way in and taking back control of the ship. Killed three of the convicts before they surrendered and we took the transport ship and the survivors back to Titan. I guess the Admiralty were pleased and sent me out here.”
“Impressive.”
“So you can understand why I’m taking this mission so seriously. There’s a lot riding on it not just for our outposts in Barnard and 61 Cygni but for me as well.”
“Why don’t they just send more ships?”
“We don’t have more ships. At least, not ones that are available. The fleet is spread thin at the moment, which is why I needed so much equipment from your warehouse if we’re going to be one of the few ships heading out to 61 Cygni.”
“Why didn’t the Admiralty provide you with orders and authorization for me?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time there was some oversight at the Admiralty. Between you and me, Admiral Baumann has too tight of a grip on things, which means that there’s no room for anyone to act independently, which is how orders like I needed get overlooked. There’s also a disconnect somewhere if you’re having to pay for your own equipment.”
“It’s not so much pay as it is that Mars doesn’t reimburse me on time. I told you I’ll do what I can but most of what I have is spoken for.”
There was a knock at the door. Captain Nieman stood up in a hurry, setting his glass away from him.
“Come in,” Rion said.
It was Celvin. “Captain Nieman is requested back on the Tartarus, sir.”
“Thank you for the drink, Supply Chief. I’ll be back soon.”
“What’s up with him?” Celvin said, after the captain left.
“He’s two people, sarge, and he doesn’t know how to reconcile them, not in front of the men, not in private.”
***
Captain Nieman marched into Ops a half hour later leading Darak in handcuffs and a tall, muscular Marine with his hand on Darak’s shoulder.
“Supply Chief Robarts,” Captain Nieman said, clearing his throat, “I’d like to report that one of your crew, this man Darak here, has been stealing equipment from your warehouse and attempting to sell it to the crew of the Tartarus.”
Darak glowered at Nieman. “I didn’t steal nothing, you said—”
The Marine punched Darak in the kidney and he doubled over.
Rion gave Darak a scathing look and said, “Thank you for uncovering this unfortunate situation, Captain. I don’t have the facilities to keep Mr. Darak here so if it’s all the same to you do you mind putting him in your brig for the time being? You can put him to use as you see fit or he can be transferred to a secure location at one of the deep space outposts.”
“We can accommodate him.”
“Thank you for understanding, Captain. I’ll have my men transfer the additional equipment you need as quickly as possible.”
Several muffled cracks and thuds resounded outside and shook the station.
Rion had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I’d say we’re under attack.”
“Report!” Nieman shouted into the communicator he pulled from his belt.
The voice came loud and clear. “Two Pharrian ships inbound, sir. Should we wait for you?”
“Negative. Take off now. See if you can’t get both to follow you.” He looked at Robarts. “What are the station’s defenses? Quickly!”
“Three laser turrets and small arms.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s everything.”
“Two turrets, sir,” Celvin said, looking at a nearby monitor. “They destroyed one in the first barrage.”
The rest of the station crew came running and crammed into Ops. Worry, exhaustion, eagerness, fear, bloodlust all mixed on their faces.
“Take four men and man the two turrets,” Captain Nieman said. Celvin hesitated, glanced at Rion , then hurried to obey. The five blue-jumpsuited men ran from the room leaving several more looking anxiously at Rion and Nieman. Darak’s eyes darted around the room under the close watch of the big Marine.
Rion went to the long cabinet in the back corner, unlocked it, and handed an assortment of rifles and hand lasers to the remaining men.
“What does it mean for Barnard and Cygni if they’re attacking here?” one man said.
“I don’t know,” Captain Nieman said. “That’s not our problem right now.” He addressed the group, “I expect they’re here for the same reason we are: equipment and supplies. They will not destroy the station if they can help it. That works to our advantage. If the Tartarus and the turrets can’t take out both ships and they manage to land they will try to storm the base and we’ll wait for them. Chief Robarts, any suggestions you have would be appreciated. It’s your station and you know it best.”
“We’ll need to cover the front airlock as well as the back airlock that leads out the warehouse and—here, give me a hand.” He jogged over to a second cabinet which held emergency space suits made of a thin but strong material and complete with a helmet. “They might shoot out the windows, come in blasting, and sort out things later. If we’re caught without suits we’re all done for. There are ten of us but I’ve only got eight suits.”
Nieman said, “You don’t have enough for the whole station’s complement?”
“Whoever stays should be safe. There’s a blast shield for the window and blast doors on either entrance. Farner, you stay in Ops. You know the systems best and you can make sure we keep power routed to the turrets. Darak will stay too. He can’t be trusted.”
“I don’t get a suit?” Darak whined.
“Shut it,” Nieman said. “Suit up and let’s move. Dvorak,” he said to the Marine, “lock him,” indicating Darak with a jerk of the thumb, “to something heavy then take a squad to the back airlock. I’ll go up front with the rest.”
The sound of the turrets firing penetrated the station walls. No return fire came and no more explosions rocked the asteroid.
The last one out, Rion turned to Farner. “What do you see on the sensors?”
Hunched over the array, the grizzled engineer replied, “Both Pharrians and the Tartarus just overflew the base but they’re out of range again. I got nothing.”
“Keep me posted on the comms.”
The blast door slammed shut behind him.
Down the hall he knew so well, Rion felt out of place in the space suit. It was unnatural to have to wear the suit when everything still looked the same, looked normal and there was perfectly good air to breathe all around them. He imagined what the others were thinking as they went down the white-gray hall, boots clanking on metal, hands twitching on unfamiliar rifles. He wondered if they too were trying to remember basic training from years, decades before. Who was that in front of him? Jannings? No, too tall for it to be Jannings. Maybe Girad.
Farner’s voice crackled over the radio, “They’re coming back around. Those two ships are putting up a heck of a fight.”
Rion pushed the radio button. “Are the turrets up?”
“Still up. Still firing.”
“What’s the plan, Nieman?”
“You’re just transmitting to me, sir,” Farner said. “The radio is just one way between each suit and Ops. You gotta use your talk button to amplify your voice for the guys around you.”
Well that’s dumb, Rion thought.
“What’s the plan, Nieman?” Rion said to the captain among the group of men gathered in their slick gray suits and shining metal helmets near the airlock door.
“Does A Wing have an external door?”
“No.”
“Good. Robarts, take three men and set up at the end of C Wing. I’ll stay here in B Wing with the rest and when they come through the airlock or, God help us, the windows we can catch them in the crossfire.”
Farner’s voice came over the radio, “They’re coming around again…one of the Pharrian’s has broken off.”
An explosion rocked the station.
“C Wing turret down, sir. Repeat, C Wing turret down.”
Both turrets covering the landing pad were down. They’d be coming in the front. Maybe the back too if they took out the warehouse turret. Where had Celvin gone? He hoped it was the warehouse turret. Maybe the damage hadn’t been too bad and the underground tower had survived.
He glanced at the door to his left leading to the turret and, as if answering his unspoken prayer, it crashed open and four men came stumbling out. Celvin was the last to emerge.
“Celvin!”
A grin broke out on his brick-square face. “Good thing we were underground or we’d be floating around in a thousand pieces right now.”
“You guys don’t have suits. Get back to Ops. See if Farner needs any help.”
“You guys go,” Celvin said. “I’ll stay here. Got a weapon, sir?”
Rion handed Celvin the rifle and drew his side arm. “You’re a better shot than me.”
“I don’t know. It’s been a long time.”
“Longer for me. You want my suit?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
They crouched there, peering around the corner, each rifle barrel almost resting on the shoulder of the next man. Rion counted the seconds with heart beats. Two beats per second, give or take. The air smelled stale. He started to wonder if something was wrong with the scrubbers then remembered the suit which had become an amorphous blob at the edges of his consciousness as he focused on the airlock door twenty five yards away, the gun, the head of the man in front of him. The air in the suit was recycled and mixed with external air, though this function shut off, sealing the suit, if there was a loss of pressure in the environment.
Rion didn’t think he was a coward but he didn’t want to be there, sweating in that suit, crouched in that hallway, under attack on an asteroid in deep space. There were a hundred places he’d rather be. None of these guys were gung-ho Marines. Not Celvin, not Girad, was that Girad or Kosk? He couldn’t see his face. Maybe even that Marine, what was his name? Dvor-something. Maybe even he wasn’t bloodthirsty and battle-crazed. Then again he probably was.
A voice came over the radio. “Pharrian ship landing outside main airlock. Get ready.”
Who was that? Where was Farner?
Rion pushed his talk button. “Get ready, boys. Is that you, Girad?”
“Kosk, sir.”
“Sorry, Kosk. Whatever you guys do, keep cover and don’t forget about the guy in front of you. I don’t want any friendly fire. We can’t afford it.”
He’d pull the trigger until the gun was empty, he knew that, but he’d still rather be transferring thousands of liters of bio-gel or formatting the memory on a food dispenser or cleaning the filters on the air scrubbers rather than getting shot at. That was for sure.
Out the window, a huge angular black shape dotted with white lights descended onto the landing pad. No sneaking up for the Pharrians. A direct assault, wipe out the defenders, take the prize.
That’s a bad story to tell yourself, Rion.
Dark shapes swarmed into the tunnel toward the airlock door into the station. Maybe they’d just come up and knock politely. That’d be a nice surprise.
Rion aimed the sidearm at the approaching Pharrians, their features obscured by dark metal blast shields and heavy armor. The thin space suit around him felt flimsy by comparison. One hit would be enough, even a glancing shot from a laser or a slug would tear through the slick material. Hopelessness welled up in him and he forced it down.
“Steady boys.” He tried not to let his voice waver. “They make good targets. Let’s let them know we won’t go down without a fight.
The voice over the radio said, “Tartarus still fighting remaining ship. I can’t tell if we’re winning.”
Let’s hope so.
“Steady.”
A huge shape dropped in front of the window. Rion twitched.
On the shape was the red orb of Mars glowing bright. It was a powersuit, the powersuit of a Martian Marine.
The Marine rocketed away from the window and opened fire on the Pharrians coming down the airlock. At the same time from a dozen places lasers lanced out cutting into the airlock tunnel and boring through the Pharrians.
Rion watched the Pharrians desperately try to fire everywhere, anywhere but they were surrounded and even though they looked to be about a hundred troopers, they were quickly falling, cut down, cut in half.
A few tried to make it back to the ship but three rockets arced out and exploded at the other end of the airlock.
The Pharrian ship, piloted by whatever crew remained on board and making a desperate attempt to take off, fired its boosters and shot up from the surface just in time for the Tartarus to materialize off its port bow and sink two warheads into its bridge.
The ship floated away for a few seconds then detonated, the explosion and the fire muffled by the vacuum of space.
Rion ran to the airlock where Nieman and the others were standing.
“How—how did they do that?”
“You already know,” Nieman said.
“What? I…” Rion thought back to the captain’s story. “They jumped off Tartarus during one of the flybys after the second ship broke off.”
“Exactly.”
“Thank God for the Marines.”
“Yes, sir,” Nieman said proudly.
Rion said, “With guys like that, how come we haven’t won the war yet?”
“We don’t have enough of them and what you saw here today was a demonstration of the power of an ambush more than anything else.”
Rion thumbed the radio button. “All clear, Ops. Open up. We’re coming in.”
He was not prepared for the scene that greeted him.
Darak was lying on the floor, snarling and gritting his teeth. Biskra and Gourdon, two of the men that had been with Celvin in the turret, were struggling with him. One man had a foot on Darak’s head, another had a knee on his back and was binding his wrists.
Yet another man, Nerpio, was at the control console where Farner had been.
Farner was on the floor next to the console not moving.
“What happened?” Rion said.
Nerpio said, “Farner’s dead. Darak killed him. We found a plasma torch. I think he used it to cut the chains then he hit Farner. Broke his skull.”
Rion walked over to Darak. “Did you think you were going to escape? What was the plan, Darak? You didn’t have to kill him.” He looked at Farner. Tall, big nose, grizzled, three months left before he got to go home. That was always how it went, wasn’t it.
Nieman marched past Rion. “Get him up. Get him up! Against the wall.” Nieman kicked Darak in the back of the leg so he fell to his knees.
“Nieman, don’t do it,” Rion said.
Nieman pulled out his sidearm and fired. Darak fell with a thud.
“I’ll have you court martialed for that, Nieman.”
Captain Nieman looked at Rion. “Go ahead and try. There’s a war on. But you only found that out today, didn’t you?”
Dvorak, his team, and the men from the warehouse turret came in through the back. They stared much like Rion had when he entered Ops.
Nieman looked at Dvorak. “Search your prisoner next time. Robarts, I wish we could stay and help rebuild but this attack makes it even more apparent than before that we are desperately needed in the 61 Cygni system.”
The captain and the Marine marched off to the warehouse and the sole functioning airlock. Nieman stopped at the door. “I need several men to finish loading our equipment.” He looked at Rion.
Rion glared then jerked his head and four of the crew jumped to comply, leaving him to stare after the retreating back of Captain Nieman.
No point in shouting at him or trying to make him stay or trying to take him into custody. There was probably some obscure regulation making what he did to Darak legal.
“Celvin, check the station systems. Make sure none of the damage to the turrets or the airlock is going to cause any further problems before we can start repairs. I don’t want a fire breaking out. The rest of you help me get Farner and Darak into the med bay. We’ll put them on ice until we can contact Mars and see what their families want us to do. After that, we gotta start putting this place back together.”
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, strictly a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance, perceived resemblance, or similarity to any other fictional works, to actual events or persons, living or dead, and any perceived slights of people, places, or organizations are products of the reader’s imagination. This fiction is the result of a partnership between a human writer and the character(s) he accessed with his creative subconscious as he raced through the story with them. No AI of any kind, generative or otherwise, was used in any way to write this story.